JOSEPHINE  G.  HALSELL 


38 j>  Jflarjaret 


THE   COMING   OF  THE   TIDE.      With  frontis- 
piece.     I2IT1O,  $1.50. 
DAPHNE:  An  Autumn  Pastoral.     i2mo,  $1.00. 

HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


THE  COMING  OF   THE   TIDE 


SHE  WAS  MAKING  A  SONG  OF  THE  TIDE 


BY 

MARGARET  SHERWOOD 


BOSTON    AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

iiiucrsi&c  press,  Cambridge 
1905 


COPYRIGHT    1905    BY    MARGARET   SHERWOOD 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  October  1905 


THE   COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 


22291S3 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 


LJ  NDEE  the  sun-smitten  branches  of  the 
woodland  and  along  the  open  road  that 
curved,  all  golden  with  dust,  over  hill  and 
through  hollow,  the  warm  air  was  full  of  the 
breath  of  pine  and  juniper  and  fern,  and  of 
the  poignant  sweetness  of  the  sea.  Now  leaf 
shadows  fell  on  the  face  of  the  girl  who  was 
being  driven  rapidly  in  a  light  carriage  to- 
ward the  east,  and  then  the  full  sunlight  of 
June  lay  there.  The  beat,  beat,  beat  of  the 
horse's  hoofs  seemed  to  set  the  world  in  mo- 
tion ;  the  quick,  uneven  wind,  the  fluttering 
yellow  butterflies,  the  slow  black  wings  of 
crows  overhead,  even  the  gently  floating 
white  clouds  against  the  dim  blue,  were  to 
her  full  of  the  sudden  joy  of  those  that  move 
and  escape.  Leaning  back  in  her  seat,  she 
closed  her  eyes,  opening  them  now  and  then 


2          THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

to  steal  a  half-fearful  glance  to  the  right, 
where,  between  dark  tree-trunks  or  beyond 
the  gray-green  tangles  of  a  bit  of  moorland, 
the  sea  lay,  incredibly  blue.  This  undreamed 
beauty  was  almost  hard  to  bear,  bringing  new 
pain  to  meet  the  old  pain  in  her  heart.  Once 
a  sudden  turn  at  the  top  of  a  little  hill  be- 
trayed to  her  the  wide  horizon  line,  and  she 
gave  a  little  cry,  "  Oh,  don't  speak  to  me !  " 
forgetting  that  she  had  come  on  her  journey 
alone.  The  lank  brown  driver  turned  with  a 
New  England  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  I  had  n't  cal'lated  to,  ma'am,"  he  ob- 
served dryly ;  then  stopped,  for  a  laugh  such 
as  he  had  never  heard  rang  out  on  his  ear, 
mellow,  mocking,  irresistible.  It  ran  up  to 
clear  high  notes  and  down  to  a  soft  ripple 
that  ended  in  a  little  sob,  and  it  made  music 
all  the  way. 

"  I  was  not  speaking  to  you,"  observed  his 
passenger,  before  the  laugh  had  quite  died 
out. 

He  nodded.  "  Thought  likely  not.  Git  up, 


THE   COMING    OF    THE   TIDE         3 

Don !  Was  you  talkin'  to  anybody  in  per- 
tikaler  ? " 

"  Only  to  ghosts,"  answered  the  voice,  half 
merry,  half  sad. 

"  Took  that  way  often  ?  " 

He  missed  the  laughter  in  the  eyes  behind 
him,  being  too  lazy  to  look  quite  far  enough 
around. 

"  Very  often." 

There  was  a  sudden  note  of  sorrow  in  the 
voice,  that  did  not  escape  the  large  ears  of 
Andrew  Lane  the  third. 

"  Your  trunks  'ull  be  right  over,"  he  re- 
marked, administering  the  only  consolation 
that  occurred  to  him. 

"  I  don't  care  about  the  trunks,"  was  the 
answer. 

This  almost  tempted  Andrew  to  look  all  the 
way  around  ;  he  had  noticed  nothing  peculiar 
about  this  young  woman  when  she  had 
stepped  from  the  train,  but  surely  this  was 
unnatural.  As  he  was  considering  the  prob- 
lem of  a  girl  with  clothes  like  that,  and  as 


4         THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

many  trunks  as  that,  who  still  said  she  did 
not  care,  he  was  roused  by  slow  notes  of  the 
same  odd  voice. 

"  Blue  —  and  blue  —  and  blue.  Why  did 
no  one  ever  tell  me,  or  could  no  one  tell  ?  " 

"  Air  they  arter  ye  again  ?  "  asked  Andrew, 
this  time  turning  round  all  the  way.  He  got 
no  answer,  however,  and  all  that  he  saw  was 
the  face  of  a  girl  whose  eyes  were  closed. 
Through  the  long  dark  lashes  two  tears  were 
forcing  their  way ;  the  lips  were  slightly 
parted,  drinking  in  the  fragrant  air,  and  the 
ungloved  hands  were  outstretched  in  her  lap, 
as  if  through  the  very  finger  tips  some  con- 
tact could  be  gained  with  this  encompass- 
ing loveliness  which  made  pain  within  the 
eyes. 

"  Mighty  queer,"  muttered  Andrew  to  his 
horse,  and  he  drove  on,  not  without  appre- 
hension. Once  he  had  heard  of  an  insane 
woman  who  had  escaped  from  the  state  asy- 
lum, and  had  come  down  to  this  very  bit  of 
coast,  where,  after  haunting  the  rocks  for 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE         5 

several  days,  she  had  plunged  into  the  sea 
and  been  drowned. 

"  But  this  here  one's  trunks  was  all  O.K.," 
he  reassured  himself.  "  Lunatic  could  n't  get 
away  with  three  on  'em,  big  as  haystacks." 

It  was  a  solitary  road,  which  seemed  to 
lead  to  the  very  heart  of  some  world  of  leafy, 
tempered  beauty,  for  June  was  passing  along 
the  water-ways,  and  all  the  land  was  quick 
with  leaf  and  blossom.  A  wind  was  abroad 
in  the  soft  marsh  grass  and  in  the  purpling 
feathery  grasses  of  the  higher  meadow  lands, 
where  buttercups  and  daisies  nodded  in  the 
waving  green.  Now  and  then  across  the 
shadow  of  flickering  branches  came  the  soft 
gleam  of  yellow  wings  or  of  blue,  and  once, 
from  far  away,  rippled  the  notes  of  a  young 
bobolink  that  was  singing  madly  for  the  mere 
joy  of  living.  At  long  intervals,  from  out  the 
sheltering  branches  of  elm  tree  or  of  maple, 
rose  the  dull  red  chimney  of  a  farmhouse, 
whose  doorways  and  windows  were  half  hid- 
den by  blossoming  lilac  and  syringa  bushes; 


6         THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

and  again,  on  some  green  sea-meadow  or 
rocky  headland,  stood  out  the  rough  gray 
stone  walls  of  a  rich  man's  summer  home. 
An  air  of  quaint  distinction  rested  upon  one 
old-fashioned  place  in  a  sheltered  cove  at  the 
right,  where  smooth-hewn  pillars  of  granite 
rock,  surmounted  by  balls  of  stone,  guarded 
the  entrance.  A  hedge  of  spiraea,  whose  long 
sprays  were  now  in  delicate  bloom  of  white, 
marked  the  confines  of  the  lawn ;  a  wide 
graveled  driveway,  bordered  by  overarching 
elms,  led  to  a  great  colonial  mansion,  whose 
white  walls  and  tall  pillars  gleamed  out  softly 
from  behind  green  branches  of  elm  and 
of  pine ;  and  all,  perhaps  because  of  some 
touch  of  wildness  in  the  uncut  grass  and  the 
luxuriant  foliage,  wore  a  storied  look.  Ne- 
glect, which  had  not  yet  brought  it  an  air 
of  desolation,  seemed  to  hint  of  a  full  tide 
of  life  that  had  come  and  gone,  and  to  the 
eyes  of  the  girl  who  was  gazing  at  it,  win- 
dow and  doorway  and  threshold  were  elo- 
quent. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE         7 

"  That 's  the  Warren  place,"  observed  An- 
drew, with  the  air  of  one  who  would  say  that 
even  mentally  unbalanced  strangers  should 
know  of  its  importance.  He  got  no  reply, 
however,  and  drove  on  in  silence,  turning  to 
the  right  a  few  minutes  later,  into  a  road, 
grass-grown  and  lovely,  leading  across  a  bit 
of  moor  to  the  sea.  Ahead,  upon  one  of  the 
bold  bluffs  that  jutted  into  the  water,  rose  the 
severe  gray  shingled  walls  and  the  red  chim- 
neys of  the  Emerson  Inn,  set  in  a  space  of 
velvety  turf,  where  gleamed  the  gold  of  un- 
numbered dandelions. 

The  ladies  of  the  Emerson  Inn  were  seated 
on  the  south  veranda  that  afternoon,  em- 
broidering, or  knitting  loose-meshed  shawls, 
or  weaving  baskets  of  Indian  grass.  There 
were  two  dark  brown  heads,  and  one  pale 
brown  head,  but  most  of  the  heads  were  gray, 
and  the  smoothly  parted  hair  bespoke  unim- 
peachable conservative  traditions.  The  pale 
brown  head  was  bent  over  a  book,  and  its 
owner,  in  a  voice  a  trifle  high  and  thin,  was 


8          THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

reading  Ibsen  aloud,  while  the  very  air,  as 
well  as  the  intent  expressions  of  foreheads, 
eyes,  and  mouths,  betrayed  an  atmosphere 
of  extreme  intellectual  stimulus.  There  was 
no  pause  when  Andrew  drove  up  with  the 
newcomer.  A  dozen  pairs  of  spectacled  eyes 
looked  up  for  an  instant,  but  the  ladies  of  the 
Emerson  Inn  were  ladies,  and  curiosity  was 
something  not  to  be  betrayed.  Once,  for  a 
second,  the  voice  faltered  and  almost  stopped, 
as  a  girl  all  in  soft  black,  dusky-haired,  and 
with  eyelids  cast  down,  sprang  to  the  piazza 
steps,  then,  ignoring  host,  hostess,  and  the 
assembled  guests,  passed  swiftly  down  the 
worn  footpath  to  the  rocks  and  began  to  climb 
over  them  toward  the  sea.  It  was  a  graceful 
figure,  pausing  lightly  on  one  bit  of  stone 
and  springing  to  the  next,  and  it  moved  as 
if  drawn  by  some  attraction  too  mighty  to 
resist.  Mr.  Phipps,  the  landlord,  looked  ques- 
tioningly  after;  Andrew,  as  he  gathered  up 
the  reins,  touched  his  forehead  significantly 
with  one  finger. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE         9 

"  Sunthin'  loose  there,"  he  remarked  suc- 
cinctly. 

Mr.  Phipps,  with  his  hands  behind  him, 
strolled  down  the  grassy  knoll  toward  the 
rocks,  and  then  back  again ;  at  the  rear  en- 
trance three  large  trunks  arrived  and  were 
noisily  deposited  on  the  ground ;  on  the  ve- 
randa Ibsen  went  on,  uninterrupted,  though 
full  of  a  tension  that  was  not  Ibsen's  own, 
for  down  on  the  cliff,  at  the  farthest  point, 
where  the  red-brown  rocks  met  the  blue,  all 
motionless  lingered  a  slender  black  shadow, 
spoiling  the  embroidery,  spoiling  the  sight 
of  the  eyes  behind  the  glasses,  spoiling  the 
play. 

"  A  new  guest,  Mr.  Phipps  ?  "  casually  in- 
quired the  Lady  from  Cincinnati,  the  only 
person  there  who  dared  interrupt  Ibsen. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  observed  nonchalantly, 
taking  the  cigar  from  his  lips,  "  but  it  looks 
as  if  I  might  lose  her." 

The  girl,  who  had  forgotten  them  all,  stood 
where  the  beat  of  the  waves  on  the  rock 


10       THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

came  to  her  as  a  part  of  her  own  being :  the 
very  pulse  of  life  seemed  throbbing  there. 
Suddenly  she  stretched  her  arms  out  to  it 
with  a  little  sob  that  mingled  with  the  mur- 
mur of  the  waves. 

"Mother!  "  she  cried,  "mother! "and  then, 
"  It  rests  me  so !  " 

Into  her  eyes  had  come  the  look  of  those 
who  have  won  the  freedom  of  the  sea. 

When  the  reading  was  over  the  ladies  on 
the  piazza  dispersed,  some  wandering  down 
to  the  rocks,  some  going  to  their  own  rooms. 
Three  took  a  constitutional,  strolling  round 
the  house. 

"  She  has  not  registered,"  observed  the 
Lady  from  Cincinnati  as  they  passed  through 
the  hall. 

"  How  sad  she  looked !  "  remarked  the 
Lady  from  Wilmington. 

"  Why,  /thought  she  looked  mischievous ! " 
cried  the  Lady  from  Boston. 

"  It  was  not  an  intellectual  countenance," 
said  the  first  speaker  severely. 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE       11 

Incidentally  on  the  walk  they  encountered 
the  trunks. 

"  Good  make,"  observed  the  Lady  from 
Cincinnati  silently.  "  Leather,  but  with  no 
foreign  labels  ;  "  and  she  went  upstairs  with 
a  puzzled  frown.  Strangers  were  rare  at  the 
Emerson  Inn,  and  of  the  few  who  had  come 
since  Miss  Black  had  assumed  the  responsi- 
bilities of  Oldest  Inhabitant,  none  had  been 
like  this.  When  she  reached  her  room  she 
noted  signs  that  the  vacant  apartment  next 
door  was  occupied  at  last.  It  was  a  corner 
room,  looking  eastward  toward  the  sea  and 
northward  toward  the  moor,  and  was  too 
expensive  for  Miss  Black's  own  purse.  The 
elderly  lady  stopped  in  amazement,  for  an 
unwonted  sound  met  her  ears.  Over  the 
transom  came  a  ripple  of  laughter  such  as 
had  seldom  sounded  on  the  New  England 
shore.  It  was  as  if  the  very  spirit  of  mirth 
were  set  free,  and  might  be  expected  to  fly 
in  over  the  transom  with  fluttering,  iridescent 
wings. 


12        THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

"  That  girl !  "  exclaimed  the  Lady  from 
Cincinnati,  with  an  expression. 

The  girl  was  standing  in  the  centre  of  her 
own  room,  slowly  surveying  it,  —  the  slop- 
ing roof,  the  dormer  windows,  the  spotless 
bare  floor,  the  pale  yellow  painted  walls,  the 
wardrobe  made  of  thirteen  hooks  suspended 
from  a  board  to  which  a  cretonne  curtain  was 
attached,  the  twelve-inch  shelf  for  books, 
the  china  candlestick.  The  soul  of  ascetic  old 
New  England  breathed  from  all  the  quaint 
furnishings,  and  the  newcomer  had  never 
seen  the  like  before. 

"  I  shall  love  it,"  she  said,  wiping  her  eyes 
in  her  laughter ;  and  she  bestowed  a  caress- 
ing pat  on  her  thin  white  counterpane. 


THE  COXING   OF  THE  TIDE      IS 


II 


JL  HE  twilight  of  early  morning  lay  over  the 
sea  when  the  swish  of  the  waves  on  the  rocks 
roused  the  newcomer  from  sleep.  Half  wak- 
ing, but  with  eyelids  closed,  she  strove  to 
win  her  way  back  to  the  beautiful  dream 
that  was  escaping.  It  had  fashioned  her  to 
herself  as  a  winged  thing  skimming  the  sur- 
face of  the  water  with  motion  swifter  than 
that  of  gulls  ;  and  the  wings  were  not  made 
for  mere  flying,  but  sensitive,  full  of  vision, 
they  let  the  color  and  beauty  and  motion  in 
for  a  moment  of  brief  rapture.  When  the 
glory  faded,  she  crept,  in  dressing-gown  and 
slippers,  to  the  window  toward  the  north, 
where  the  moorland  lay  dusky  green  in  the 
dim  light,  and  the  far  calls  of  waking  birds 
added  distance  to  the  stretches  of  tangled 
bayberry  bushes  and  scrub  pine,  then  turned 


14       THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

to  the  east,  where  the  mystery  of  wide  ocean 
lay  gray,  expectant,  under  a  sky  of  gray. 

As  she  watched,  down  the  dull,  tossing  sea 
crept  a  ripple  of  gold,  and  the  yellow  rim  of 
the  sun  rose  at  the  edge  of  the  world.  Glim- 
mering softly  came  the  light ;  bright  sparkles 
of  dew  and  wet  gossamer  webs  shone  from 
the  velvety  green  of  the  moorland,  and  a 
longer  pathway  of  light  led  across  the  sea. 
The  girl  at  the  window  was  on  her  knees, 
and  her  dark  head  wras  bowed  when  the  glory 
reached  it  and  rested  there. 

There  was  an  unusual  calm  in  the  dining- 
room  of  the  Emerson  Inn  that  morning,  a 
portentous,  smiling  surface  calm  that  hid  the 
profound  agitation  of  the  depths.  It  was 
not  for  the  well  bred  to  show  excitement  for 
trivial  cause,  and  they  did  not.  The  conver- 
sation ran  along  the  usual  lines :  pale  hints 
of  metaphysic  floated  out  upon  the  summer 
breeze,  and  all  the  air  was  rife  with  quotations 
from  the  poets  and  bits  of  literary  criticism. 
Only  once  was  the  curtain  of  reserve  rent  in 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       15 

twain,  and  that  when  George  Eliot  was  the 
ostensible  theme. 

"I  noticed  that  her  handkerchiefs  were 
bordered  with  black,"  said  the  Lady  from 
Wilmington,  who  was  absent-minded.  The 
Lady  from  Boston  delicately  plunged  into 
the  breach,  pretending  that  she  had  not  un- 
derstood this  bit  of  mental  aberration. 

"  But  in  the  case  of  Tito,  you  know,  the 
author  is  hardly  fair.  She  hounds  him 
down  the  road  to  ruin  in  order  to  prove  a 
moral  thesis.  A  certain  lack  of  spiritual  in- 
sight "- 

Here  the  door  was  flung  open  and  the 
broken  sentence  remained  unfinished,  for  a 
vision  entered.  Clad  all  in  diaphanous  white 
that  fluttered  as  she  walked,  her  dark  head 
rising  daintily  like  a  flower  from  its  sheath, 
came  the  stranger  of  yesterday,  the  dull  blue 
of  the  wall  paper  throwing  face  and  motion 
into  fine  relief.  She  paused  in  hesitation, 
vainly  looking  about  for  a  head  waiter,  for 
supper  had  been  served  in  her  room  the  night 


16        THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

before,  and  she  did  not  know  at  which  table 
to  take  refuge.  Presently  the  slim,  spectacled 
district  schoolmistress  who  waited  on  the 
three  tables  nearest  the  door,  entered  with 
a  plate  of  Boston  brown  bread  in  her  hand, 
and  greeted  the  newcomer  with  the  air  that 
terrified  tardy  urchins  at  school. 

"  You  will  find  a  seat  there,"  she  remarked 
severely,  pointing  with  the  forefinger  of  her 
left  hand ;  the  under  tone  of  her  voice  added, 
"  You  will  stand  in  the  corner  half  an  hour 
afterward  for  being  late." 

The  dark  eyes  of  the  stranger  rested  on 
her  with  an  air  of  delicious  surprise ;  she 
nodded  gracefully  and  with  twitching  lips 
sank  into  the  chair.  Thirty  pairs  of  eyes 
wandered,  willy-nilly,  her  way,  and  many  a 
sentence  drifted  hopelessly  away  from  its 
verb,  never  to  find  it  again. 

"  Grape-nuts,"  demanded  the  schoolmis- 
tress peremptorily,  "  or  pettijohn  ?  " 

The  Lady  from  Wilmington  interrupted 
the  answer  with  a  friendly  good-morning, 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE       17 

and  the  waitress  frowned,  —  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  prompt  replies. 

As  the  meal  went  on,  the  girl  in  the  white 
gown  behaved  under  these  unusual  circum- 
stances as  any  well-bred  girl  would  under 
ordinary  circumstances  ;  "  which  proves,"  the 
little  Bostonian  remarked  to  herself,  "  that 
she  is  a  lady."  Of  the  tension  in  the  air,  the 
newcomer,  despite  her  calm  face,  was  keenly 
conscious,  but,  aware  that  in  coming  unchap- 
eroned  and  alone  to  this  strange  spot,  she 
was  outraging  her  own  traditions  much  more 
completely  than  those  of  her  fellow  guests, 
she  was  quite  cheerful  in  the  face  of  encom- 
passing criticism.  It  came  to  her  in  friendly 
glances  and  in  kind  words;  it  vibrated 
through  the  air  in  inquiries  that  were  not 
made.  Just  once  the  Lady  from  Cincinnati 
ventured  near  the  edge,  as  the  soft  vowels 
of  her  new  neighbor  came  to  her  ear. 

"  You  are  Southern,'  I  see." 

"  Yes,"  was  the  answer,  made  with  a  con- 
tagious smile. 


"  Have  you  ever  been  North  before  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  But  you  have  been  at  the  shore  ?  " 

"  Never." 

There  was  a  pause.  Bits  from  Huxley,  and 
Mrs.  Eddy,  and  Emerson  floated  through  the 
air. 

"  Are  you  literary  ?  "  suddenly  asked  an 
elderly  lady  who  had  not  spoken  before. 

The  smile  got  into  the  girl's  voice  and 
into  her  eyes. 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  she  drawled.  "I  can 
read  and  write  —  after  a  fashion." 

In  the  dead  silence  that  followed,  the 
schoolmistress  stood  bolt  upright  against 
the  wall,  with  her  arms  hanging  stiffly  at 
her  sides,  and  openly  looked  contempt.  The 
stranger  realized  that  where  the  South  would 
have  smiled  the  North  only  looked  aghast. 

"  The  schools  are  so  poor  in  the  South," 
remarked  the  Lady  from  Boston  kindly. 
"  Had  ypu  ever  thought  of  the  possibility  of 
a  Northern  college  ?  " 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE       19 

The  waitress  blushed  and  looked  self-con- 
scious ;  she  was  to  enter  one  in  the  fall.  It 
was  the  stranger's  turn  to  look  shocked. 

"  My  family  would  never  have  permitted 
that,"  she  answered,  wondering. 

"  I  presume  you  have  made  it  up  by  read- 
ing," suggested  the  Lady  from  Cincinnati. 
" Do  you  read  Ibsen?" 

"  Not  if  I  can  possibly  escape,"  said  the 
stranger. 

"Or  Browning?" 

The  little  look  of  wickedness  that  lurked 
always  behind  the  veiled  sadness  of  her  eyes 
leaped  to  the  surface. 

"  Browning,"  she  murmured, "  Browning  ? 
I  have  heard  the  name,  but "  Here  she 
stopped,  penitent.  These  moments  of  mis- 
chievous girlhood  that  now  and  then  came 
rippling  into  her  mat urer  years  always  left 
her  with  a  sense  of  regret. 

Horror  smote  the  room ;  no  one  ordered 
any  more  food,  for  desire  failed.  Conversa- 
tion flagged,  and  one  by  one  the  guests 


slipped  away,  leaving  the  daughter  of  the 
South  sitting  helplessly  between  a  cup  of 
pale  brown  coffee  and  a  generous  slab  of 
dark  brown  bread.  She  touched -the  sodden, 
resisting  surface  of  the  latter  with  her  fork, 
delicately,  and  retreated,  to  answer  the  call 
of  the  sea,  whose  sun-flecked  waters  gleamed 
from  far  through  the  open  windows.  Outside 
she  forgot :  forgot  her  hunger,  and  the  hard 
little  bed  which  had  seemed  devised  as  a 
punishment  for  sin  ;  forgot  her  great  trunks 
and  the  thirteen  hooks  suspended  humor- 
ously, it  seemed  to  her,  from  the  board.  Had 
all  these  pink  wild  roses  bloomed  here  yes- 
terday? she  asked  herself,  as  she  saw  them 
stretching  in  masses  along  the  cliff,  broken 
by  gray,  lichen-grown  rock,  by  the  fresh 
fronds  of  young  sumac,  and  by  dark  juniper 
with  its  new  shoots  as  pale  as  green  sea  foam. 
Surely  they  must  have  been  here,  and  the 
tangled  blackberry  vines  must  have  been 
growing  in  this  same  wild  way,  and  the  fra- 
grance must  have  been  then  as  sweet  as 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       21 

now,  but  she  had  not  known  it,  forgetting  all 
things  near  in  her  escape  to  the  vastness  of 
the  sea.  She  climbed  again  over  the  rocks, 
dressed  most  inappropriately,  as  the  spec- 
tators from  the  piazza  truthfully  remarked, 
and  hid  herself  for  the  entire  morning  in  a 
deep  cleft  where  she  could  see  and  hear  and 
feel.  The  glorious,  oncoming  great  green 
waves  broke  rhythmically  below  her  as  the 
tide  came  in,  and  they  brought  a  sense  of 
the  washing  of  old  sorrow  out  of  the  soul. 
Listening  to  their  mighty  beating  on  the 
rocks,  she  paused  in  reverent  wonder,  mur- 
muring :  — 

"  To  think  that  I  never  knew  before  that 
the  earth  is  set  to  music !  " 

There  was  consternation  at  one  o'clock 
when  the  stranger  failed  to  appear  at  dinner. 

"  She  is  certainly  erratic,"  remarked  an 
elderly  spinster,  who  was  undoubtedly  Some- 
body from  Somewhere. 

"  But  is  n't  she  a  beauty  !  "  said  the  young 
woman  with  pale  brown  hair.  "  I  've  never 


22        THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

seen  such  glorious  eyes,  and  her  mouth  looks 
as  if  she  had  stolen  it  from  some  old  picture." 

It  was  the  Lady  from  Cincinnati  who 
voiced,  in  a  whisper,  the  long-suppressed 
criticism  of  the  assembly. 

"  /  think  that  we  should  be  a  little  care- 
ful. In  all  the  years  I  have  been  here  I  've 
never  seen  anything  that  looked  improper." 

The  Lady  from  Boston  bravely  took  up 
the  glove  thus  thrown  down ;  there  had  been 
many  an  encounter  between  these  two. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  we  ought  to  make 
her  one  of  us.  It*  is  evident  from  what  she 
said  this  morning  about  Browning  "  —  the 
voice  sank  a  little  here  —  "  that  she  is  very 
ignorant.  We  could  do  a  great  deal  for  her 
this  summer  by  guiding  her  thought  into 
right  channels  and  suggesting  standards." 

The  stranger,  coming  in  from  the  rocks 
sunburned,  disheveled,  with  eyes  alight  with 
life  and  fire,  heard  the  last  sentence  of  this 
conversation  as  the  guests  strolled  out  into 
the  hall. 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE       23 

"  Surely,"  the  Lady  from  Cincinnati  was 
saying  (she  was  accustomed  to  the  last  word), 
"  unless  something  were  wrong  that  girl 
would  have  registered  by  this  time.  She  has 
clothes  enough  for  an  actress,  and  beauty 
enough  to  excite  suspicion  anywhere." 

A  dimple  quivered  in  the  newcomer's  left 
cheek.  She  slowly  crossed  the  hall,  and, 
taking  up  the  public  pen,  wrote  her  name 
in  the  register  with  a  generous  scrawl.  The 
dark  e}^es  were  full  of  mischief  as  she  went 
upstairs  to  make  ready  for  her  late  dinner ; 
but  the  look  changed  to  apprehension  as  she 
thought  of  facing  the  sternest  of  maids. 
Downstairs  the  Lady  from  Wilmington,  care- 
lessly approaching  the  open  page,  read  half 
aloud :  "  Miss  Frances  Wilmot,  Richmond, 
Virginia." 

"  Miss  Frances  Wilmot,"  gasped  the  reader. 
"  Wilmot  is  a  great  name  in  Virginia,  a  very 
great  name  indeed." 

That  afternoon  the  Lady  from  Boston, 
still  ignorant  of  the  stranger's  name  and 


24       THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

address,  openly  adopted  her,  spreading  over 
her  the  protection  of  her  dove-gray  wings. 
She  showed  her  all  her  pet  crannies  in  the 
rocks ;  she  gently  suggested  —  as  the  girl's 
muslin  flounces  caught  on  bits  of  flinty 
stone  —  that  a  short  tweed  skirt  would  be 
useful. 

"  We  do  not  dress  much  here,  my  dear," 
she  said ;  and  the  Southern  girl  involuntarily 
glanced  at  her  new  friend's  cotton  blouse 
and  serge  skirt,  with  a  feeling  that  the  re- 
mark was  in  some  way  tautological. 

Gently  the  little  lady  led  the  conversation 
into  improving  paths,  incidentally  alluding 
to  lectures  that  she  had  heard,  and  to  reading 
courses  that  she  had  put  herself  through. 
The  girl  listened  to  it  all,  and,  though  now 
and  then  her  rebellious  lips  would  twitch 
with  amusement,  her  eyes  were  soft  with  a 
sense  of  the  kindness  shown.  Sometimes, 
when  the  speaker  herself  felt  that  the  at- 
mosphere was  growing  too  oppressive  intel- 
lectually, she  glided  into  anecdotes  of  the 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE       25 

countryside,  to  be  rewarded  by  a  sudden 
flash  of  keen  interest  in  her  listener's  eyes, 
for  all  human  story  was  dear  to  the  girl. 

"  This  is  such  a  rare  bit  of  country ;  the 
summer  people  have  not  found  it  out,  and  if 
they  had,  they  could  not  come.  There  are 
some  great  estates  left  about  here,  and 
people  who  have  held  the  land  more  than 
two  hundred  years  live  on  them.  Did  you 
notice  a  large,  white  colonial  house  with  a 
stone  gateway  just  beyond  the  turning  as 
you  came  in  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  Southern  girl. 

"  That  is  the  Warren  place  ;  it  is  very 
beautiful,  and  it  is  very,  very  old.  The  origi- 
nal Paul  Warren  came  over  in  1645  from 
Devonshire  with  a  single  servant  from  his 
father's  house,  and  he  worked  and  cleared 
the  forest  and  fought  the  Indians  until  a 
great  tract  of  land  was  given  him  by  the 
Crown  for  special  services,  —  thousands  of 
acres.  It  has  been  an  important  family  ever 
since,  and  the  present  owner  still  lives  here, 


26        THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

though  he  spends  his  winters  in  Boston  with 
his  wife.  He  has  a  brother  who  stays  here 
all  the  time,  Mr.  Peter  Warren,  an  extremely 
eccentric  character.  Joining  the  Warren 
place  is  the  old  Bevanne  estate.  Look,  and 
you  can  see  the  ragged  locust  trees  just  over 
the  top  of  the  little  hill.  The  Bevannes  are 
another  old  family,  but  one  that  has  grown 
poor,  perhaps  fortunately  for  us,  for  they 
sold  Mr.  Phipps  the  land  on  which  the  Emer- 
son Inn  is  built,  and  but  for  them  we  might 
never  have  known  this  lovely  bit  of  shore. 
The  son  of  that  family  is  a  college  professor 
somewhere.  Oh,  it  is  very  good  stock  in  both 
cases ; "  and  the  little  Lady  from  Boston, 
who  knew  good  stock  and  was  of  it,  drew 
her  protegee  away  to  see  a  special  bed  of 
wild  pink  honeysuckle  which  had  been  her 
delight  for  seven  consecutive  years,  and  for- 
got old  families  for  a  time. 

When  they  came  back,  breathless  from 
climbing  a  steep  bit  of  rock,  they  found  a 
group  assembled  on  the  piazza  round  an  odd 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE       27 

little  man  in  a  white  flannel  suit  and  Panama 
hat.  Out  of  the  queer,  wizened,  wrinkled 
face,  deep-set  blue  eyes  shone  with  one  of  the 
lesser  orders  of  intelligence,  and  the  motions 
of  face  and  hands  betokened  a  mind  cease- 
lessly, aimlessly  alert.  He  was  talking  rapidly, 
and  the  assembled  hearers  bent  their  heads 
with  the  usual  deference  of  spinsterhood  for 
man,  however  small. 

"  There  is  Mr.  Peter  Warren  now ! " 
exclaimed  the  Lady  from  Boston.  "  Shall  I 
present  him  to  you?  " 

"  Don't,  don't  interrupt  him,"  begged  the 
girl,  lifting  a  warning  hand,  and  the  two 
stood  unobserved  on  the  steps  while  the  shrill 
voice  went  on. 

"  Curious  thing,  heredity.  Now  I  suppose 
you  think  you  know  all  about  it,  but  you 
can't,  possibly.  Nobody  does  who  does  n't 
know  me." 

"  Indeed,"  said  an  amused  voice. 

"  Fact,"  asserted  Mr.  Peter  Warren,  slap- 
ping his  knee.  "  Listen  !  "  and  his  voice  sank 


28       THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

to  a  mysterious  whisper.  "  I  am  different  from 
all  other  people  who  breathe.  You  will  say 
that  a  man  is  the  sum  of  his  ancestors,  that 
is,  the  blood,  nerves,  and  brain  he  has  inher- 
ited from  them  all  are  intermingled.  He  is 
no  one  of  them ;  he  is  the  result  of  all.  A  cer- 
tain balance  is  kept  because  the  different  in- 
gredients counteract  one  another.  Now  hear 
this :  /  am  all  my  ancestors  in  succession. 
No  drop  of  blood,  no  nerve  fibre  that  I  have 
inherited  from  any  one  of  them  is  mingled 
with  any  other.  When  one  personality  rules 
me  it  rules  me  completely,  and  I  am  always 
at  the  mercy  of  the  ancestor  who  enters  me 
last.  How  do  I  know  ?  From  the  complete 
contrariety  of  my  impulses.  Why,  when  I 
was  a  child,  would  I  be  lying  one  minute  on 
the  floor,  smiling  and  happy,  the  next,  biting 
in  fury  and  screaming  ?" 

"  Were  you  ?  "  asked  an  amazed  feminine 
voice.  "  I  cannot  imagine  it." 

He  nodded  solemnly.  "  Once,  when  I  was 
a  youngster,  I  remember  spending  two  hours 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE       29 

nursing  a  hurt  blue-bottle  fly.  I  was  my  mo- 
ther then,  I  think,  and  she  was  one  of  the 
saints  of  the  earth.  That  very  morning  I 
went  out  and  killed  my  pet  dog.  Something 
drove  me  to  it,  —  many  people  would  say  it 
was  the  devil ;  I  say  it  was  my  great-great- 
grandfather Warren,  who  was  rather  a  brute. 
That  murderous  impulse,  which  I  remember 
as  perfectly  as  if  it  had  come  to-day,  was 
simply  his  spirit  entering  in.  Then  there  is 
my  —  my  taste  for  good  wine ;  I  can  no  more 
help  that  than  I  can  help  having  two  arms  and 
two  legs.  It  was  settled  for  me  long  before  I 
was  born.  In  fine,"  he  concluded,  with  a  the- 
atrical gesture  of  his  arms,  "  I  am  not  the  re- 
sultant of  my  ancestors :  I  am  their  victim. 
How  else,"  and  he  touched  his  chest,  "can 
you  account  for  the  acts  of  this  singular 
mechanism  which  calls  itself  Peter  Warren, 
and  whose  acts  seem  so  illogical  interpreted 
in  the  narrower  way?" 

In  the  impressive  pause  which  followed 
these  words,  the  speaker  caught  sight  of  the 


SO        THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

listeners  standing  on  the  steps,  and  rose  with 
a  gallant  bow. 

"  There  is  nothing  so  interesting  as  human 
nature,"  he  observed,  smiling,  as  the  Lady 
from  Boston  murmured  his  name  by  way  of 
introduction.  "  And  where  does  one  know 
human  nature  so  well  as  in  one's  self?  Lit- 
tle, after  all,  is  of  supreme  concern  to  man 
except  himself.  Don't  you  think  so  ? "  he 
added,  looking  toward  the  girl. 

The  answer  came  quickly  in  her  soft  South- 
ern voice.  "I  have  seen  many  things  that 
would  make  me  believe  it." 

Mr.  Peter  Warren  very  soon  took  his  de- 
parture, with  many  polite  bows  and  graceful 
little  speeches.  As  his  hostesses  remarked 
afterward,  his  manner  belonged  to  the  old 
school.  He  must  hasten  home,  he  observed  in 
parting,  for  his  brother  was  ill,  very  ill,  and 
might  need  him.  A  little  chorus  followed  him 
as  he  went  strolling  down  the  road  with  his 
great  cane.  "  Is  n't  he  odd  ! "  said  one.  "  Is  n't 
he  original !  "  said  another.  "  Such  interest- 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE       SI 

ing  theories  !  "  said  a  third.  But  the  girl  with 
pale  brown  hair  whispered  lightly  in  Frances 
Wilmot's  ear,  having  seen  the  amazement  in 
the  newcomer's  eyes,  "  He  's  just  a  harmless 
sort  of  lunatic,  /  think." 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  they  let  her  go, 
and,  escaping,  she  wandered  along  a  path 
at  the  top  of  the  cliffs  to  a  point  where  the 
rocks,  parting,  left  space  for  a  kind  of  amphi- 
theatre guarding  a  curving  sand  beach.  Tall, 
soft  grass,  chased  by  the  sea  wind,  waved  on 
its  steep  slope ;  and  buttercups  and  dande- 
lions, long  of  stem,  nodded  there.  The  girl 
nestled  down  among  the  grasses,  watching 
the  mighty  actor,  the  sea,  playing  his  eternal 
play  over  the  dark  rocks  beyond  the  beach ; 
and  she  sighed  deeply  as  for  weariness,  so 
many  different  kinds  of  wonder  had  been 
crowded  into  one  day !  Wide  and  infinitely 
blue  the  water  stretched  out  before  her,  the 
outermost  rim  of  the  sea  meeting  the  pearly 
blue  of  the  sky  in  a  line  that  seemed  to  ring 
the  world. 


32        THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

"  No  poet  has  told  its  beauty ;  perhaps 
no  poet  could,"  she  murmured  to  herself. 
"  Rossetti's 

As  the  cloud-foaming  firmamental  blue 
Rests  on  the  blue  line  of  a  foamless  sea 

is  too  much  like  the  tracing  of  a  graven  tool 
to  let  the  sea's  life  in.  Swinburne  has  caught 
the  color  and  the  motion,  but  he  could  not 
reach  the  soul  of  you.  Oh,  if  Swinburne  had 
not  been  Swinburne,  what  sealike  poems  he 
might  have  written  !  " 

Sunset  came  and  found  her  there,  watch- 
ing the  faint  flush  across  the  eastern  sky, 
and  the  golden  light  gleaming  on  one  far 
white  sail,  and  on  the  nearer  outspread 
wings  of  one  white  gull.  Twilight  gathered, 
and  still  she  lingered,  for  long  grasses  touched 
face  and  hand  in  friendly  fashion ;  cool  damp 
air  gently  caressed  cheek  and  forehead,  and 
the  soft,  immemorial  swish  of  the  water 
roused  a  sense  as  of  something  within  her 
beating  back  to  the  very  beginning  of  time. 
One  by  one  along  the  shore,  as  darkness 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       33 

deepened,  golden  lights  gleamed  out  beyond 
gray  water  and  dim  rocks,  while  all  about 
her  hylas  and  softly  singing  creatures  of 
summer  nights  piped  to  the  music  of  the 
sea. 


S4       THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE 


III 


JL  HE  wide,  old-fashioned  hall  of  the  Warren 
house  was  open  to  the  night,  and  through 
the  great  double  doors,  flung  open  at  each 
end,  the  stars  were  shining.  The  breeze  that 
blew  gently  through,  making  the  candles  on 
the  mantel  over  the  huge  fireplace  flicker, 
brought  with  it  murmurs  of  the  shore,  where 
the  waves  were  breaking  heavily  at  the  turn- 
ing of  the  tide.  The  air  was  full  of  the  soft 
sounds  of  a  summer  night,  the  low,  sweet 
love -songs  of  unnumbered  tiny  creatures 
calling  to  one  another  in  the  dark.  Scarcely 
louder,  came  from  the  bedroom  at  the  left  of 
the  hall  the  sound  of  whispered  prayers,  for 
the  master  of  the  house  lay  dying  in  the  great 
four-posted  mahogany  bed,  and  his  wife, 
kneeling  at  the  bedside  with  the  single  candle 
on  the  little  table  flaming  above  her  beauti- 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE       35 

ful  gray  head,  was  reading  prayers  for  the 
visitation  of  the  sick.  The  nurse  sat  silent  in 
the  corner;  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
now,  save  wait  the  great  inevitable  moment. 
Outside  in  the  hall  the  son  of  the  house  was 
walking  softly  up  and  down  through  the 
darkness  and  the  faint  light  of  the  wind- 
blown candles ;  his  step  was  measured  and 
slow,  with  a  suggestion  of  suppressed  agi- 
tation. The  face,  when  the  dim  rays  half 
lighted  it  in  the  darkness,  showed  the  deadly 
calm  that  often  covers,  in  strong  natures,  pas- 
sionate excitement.  Upon  it  the  shadows  of 
night  met  the  shadow  of  coming  sorrow. 

"  Peace  be  to  this  house,  and  to  all  that 
dwell  in  it,"  repeated  the  sweet,  tremulous 
voice  of  the  kneeling  woman.  "  Remember 
not,  Lord,  our  iniquities,  nor  the  iniquities  of 
our  forefathers ;  spare  us,  good  Lord,  spare 
thy  people  " 

When  the  voice  ceased,  there  was  silence 
in  the  house,  save  for  the  sick  man's  labor- 
ing breath,  and  the  faint  melodies  that  came 


36        THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

from  out  of  doors.  Paul  Warren  stopped 
abruptly  in  his  walk,  looking  out  at  the 
golden  stars  that  shone  through  the  eastern 
door,  then  at  those  that  shone  from  the  west, 
with  the  wide  darkness  beyond,  and  his 
expressive  face  changed  with  a  sudden  sense 
of  the  likeness  of  all  this  to  human  life,  the 
little,  roofed-in  space  between  two  infinites. 

"  Paul,  come ;  he  wants  you,"  said  his 
mother's  voice  in  a  quick  whisper. 

A  swift  spasm  of  pain  passed  over  the 
young  man's  face  as  he  entered  the  death 
chamber ;  it  was  hard  to  witness  the  helpless 
suffering  of  the  strong.  Propped  on  huge, 
old-fashioned  pillows  lay  his  father,  his  grand 
physique  emphasizing  the  pathos  of  this 
moment  of  supreme  weakness.  Head,  arms, 
and  shoulders  were  of  noble  proportions,  but 
the  eyes  were  dim  and  the  great  muscles 
powerless.  The  face,  with  its  bold  forehead 
and  fine,  deep  eyes,  was  that  of  one  who  had 
known  the  thick  of  the  conflict;  scars  of 
strong  passions  were  visible ;  there  was  also, 


THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE       37 

not  yet  relaxed,  a  certain  dominant  control 
of  the  firm  mouth,  partly  hidden  under  the 
flowing  gray  beard. 

"  Paul !  "  murmured  the  dying  lips.  "  Is 
that  Paul  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father."  The  young  man's  voice 
was  less  steady  than  that  of  the  older  one. 

John  Warren's  wasted  eyelids  were  lifted, 
as  far  as  he  could  lift  them,  and  there  was 
silence,  while  father  and  son  looked  at  each 
other.  In  the  awfulness  of  the  moment  the 
veils  of  life  were  drawn  away ;  even  in  this 
supreme  hour  the  two,  who  had  said  so 
little  and  had  felt  so  much,  shrank  from 
the  exposure  as  their  naked  souls  met  face 
to  face.  It  was  only  for  an  instant,  for  the 
sense  of  slipping,  slipping,  left  no  time  for 
pause,  and  the  shyness  of  a  lifetime  was 
broken. 

"  Paul,"  came  the  broken  voice,  "  take 
care  of  your  mother." 

The  young  man  knelt  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  father's ;  despite  a  profound  affec- 


88         THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

tion  there  had  not  been  so  much  of  a  caress 
between  these  two  for  years. 

"  I  will,"  he  answered,  in  a  voice  whose 
very  strength  betrayed  its  weakness. 

"  I  —  have  n't  —  always  —  made  —  out 
to  be  —  myself,"  came  the  faltering  voice  of 
the  sick  man  ;  but  his  wife  was  on  her  knees 
by  his  side,  sobbing,  with  her  face  buried  in 
the  bed-clothes. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  have,  you  have  !  "  she  cried, 
with  that  tender  mendacity  with  which  we 
meet  the  failures  of  the  dying  and  the  dead. 

The  emotional  strain  of  the  situation  was 
too  much  for  the  man  who  was  finding  his 
way  to  death's  door.  His  grim  sense  of 
humor  had  never  left  him  in  life  ;  it  did  not 
leave  him  now. 

"  Keep  your  —  Uncle   Peter  here  —  as 
long  —  as  you  can  stand  it,  and  let  —  him 
talk  --  about  himself  as  --  much  as  he  - 
wants  to." 

A  gleam  came  into  Paul's  eyes.  These 
two  had  never  yet  seen  the  day  when  they 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE        39 

could  not  smile  together ;  they  smiled  to- 
gether for  the  last  time  now,  for  a  faint 
flicker  passed  over  the  dying  man's  face  and 
was  reflected  in  the  son's. 

"  I  will,"  he  promised,  pressing  his  father's 
hand,  "  and  I  will  listen." 

The  kneeling  woman  trembled  with  a  lit- 
tle shiver  of  non  -  comprehension  that  had 
often  come  over  her  in  listening  to  her  hus- 
band and  her  son. 

"  Be  a  good  boy,"  the  fading  lips  said,  and 
there  was  a  touch  of  pressure  from  the  weak 
old  hand.  Paul  Warren  gave  one  great  dry 
sob. 

"  And  fight  —  fight  Bevanne." 

"  Oh,  John,"  moaned  his  horrified  wife, 
lifting  her  face  from  the  sheet  that  was  wet 
with  her  tears,  "  not  now  !  Don't  talk  like 
that !  " 

A  wave  of  color  swept  over  the  dying 
man's  face  ;  the  muscles  of  his  arms  swelled 
a  little,  and  the  veins  of  his  forehead,  so 
sunken  a  minute  before,  knotted  for  a  mo- 


40        THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

ment  almost  in  the  old  way  ;  then  the  blood 
receded,  leaving  them  more  hollow  than  be- 
fore. 

"  Yes,  fight  him,  —  watch  out  for  him  — 
and  all  his  —  brood.  They  are  —  slippery 
as  rattlesnakes.  I  —  wanted  to  —  have  it 
out  with  him  —  before  I  went." 

"  But,  John,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Warren,  "  he 
is  dead  ;  he  has  been  dead  twenty  years." 

Her  husband's  eyes  looked  questioningly 
at  her. 

"  So  he  is,  —  I  keep  —  forgetting.  Look 
out  —  for  the  young  one  —  then.  Young 
rattlesnakes  —  are  just  as  —  poisonous  —  as 
old  ones." 

A  great  sense  of  wonder  swept  over  Paul 
Warren  at  this  sudden  revelation  of  hatred 
which  had  smouldered,  unknown  to  him,  in 
his  father's  breast  for  all  these  years,  and 
with  it  came  envy  of  the  nature  that  could 
hate  in  this  strong  way. 

"Don't  think  of  such  dreadful  things 
now,"  begged  Emily  Warren.  "  Do  you 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE       41 

know,  do  you  understand,  John,  where  you 
are?  That  you  are  —  dying?"  The  waver- 
ing voice  broke  into  sobs. 

"  I  know,  Emily,"  said  the  old  man  simply. 
"  I  am  not  afraid." 

"Are  you  sure  ?  "  she  pleaded,  —  "I  have 
sometimes  been  fearful,  you  are  so  irregular 
about  going  to  church,  —  are  you  sure  you 
believe  in  God?" 

"  Yes,"  said  John  Warren  grimly  from  his 
pillow.  "  Who  would  n't  —  that  had  any 
sense  ?  " 

Hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  Paul  Warren 
flung  open  the  windows  of  the  room.  Some- 
where, long  ago,  he  had  read  of  a  people 
who  set  doors  and  windows  wide  that  the 
souls  of  the  dying  might  be  set  free  to  join 
the  great  procession  of  the  dead,  always 
sweeping,  sweeping  through  the  air.  To  the 
tensely  strained  ears  it  almost  seemed  as  if, 
through  the  murmur  of  wind  and  of  sea,  he 
could  hear  the  coming  of  that  great  train ; 
and  at  the  centre  of  his  being  was  a  bewil- 


42        THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

dered  sense  of  great  doors  opened  wide,  at 
whose  threshold  he  paused,  shrinking,  unable 
to  go  farther.  Suddenly,  with  a  bound  and 
a  rush,  a  huge  dark  object  came  leaping  into 
the  room.  Mrs.  Warren  screamed  aloud  in 
terror,  and  even  Paul  started,  for  his  tear- 
dimmed  eyes  refused  to  do  him  service ;  but 
the  dying  man  smiled  feebly  on  his  pillow. 

"It's — only  — Robin,"  he  said,  weakly 
lifting  up  a  hand  and  groping  blindly  for  the 
familiar  touch.  A  minute  later  the  great 
collie's  head  was  lying  in  it,  the  dog's  heart 
beating  in  quick  throbs  as  he  whimpered  out 
his  joy  at  finding  him  from  whom  he  had  so 
long  been  shut  away.  A  broken  rope  at  his 
throat  showed  how  mighty  were  the  bonds 
he  could  break  for  love  of  the  master  who 
lay  dying. 

"  Take  him  away,  Paul,"  said  Mrs.  War- 
ren, who  stood  trembling. 

Paul  shook  his  head ;  he  could  not  do  it 
while  that  look  of  satisfaction  was  on  his 
father's  face.  The  candles  flickered  and  sput- 


tered ;  they,  too,  were  burning  low.  The 
young  man  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand, 
for  the  pain  of  looking  had  grown  intoler- 
able, and  so  they  waited,  at  the  ebbing  of 
the  tide. 

A  rough,  bearded  face  appeared  shortly 
after  at  the  window,  and  a  great  voice  whis- 
pered :  — 

"  Is  Robin  here  ?    He 's  broke  loose." 

"  Come  and  take  him  away,"  said  the  mis- 
tress of  the  house. 

Tiptoeing,  the  man  entered  the  room  and 
laid  his  hand  on  the  dog's  collar.  It  was  An- 
drew Lane  the  second,  the  farmer  who  had 
charge  of  the  place. 

"  Come,  Robin ;  come,  Robin,"  he  said, 
gently  pulling  at  the  rope. 

A  low  growl  was  the  result,  becoming 
louder  and  more  menacing  as  the  man  held 
on.  The  dog's  head  lay  still  in  his  master's 
grasp,  and  into  the  animal's  eyes  came  a 
dangerous  gleam,  breaking  their  soft  love- 
light.  Andrew  fell  back,  dropping  the  rope. 


44 


"  Go,  Robin,"  begged  the  mistress. 

The  great  beast  did  not  stir. 

"  Go  out,  Robin,"  said  Paul  Warren 
sternly  ;  the  dog  only  growled. 

Then  the  sick  man  moved,  and  his  breath 
came  in  quick  gasps. 

"  Go,  Robin,"  he  commanded,  raising  his 
head;  then  he  fell  back  and  died. 

The  dog  slunk  broken-heartedly  out  into 
the  hall,  obeying  the  last  command  he  was 
ever  sure  was  right ;  brushed,  growling,  past 
the  doctor,  who  had  come  too  late,  and  ran 
out  into  the  darkness. 

An  hour  later  Paul  Warren  was  again 
pacing  the  great  dark  hall,  while  subdued 
sounds  came  from  his  father's  chamber,  where 
the  last  services  were  being  done  for  the 
dead.  Weeping,  through  the  dusk,  came  the 
old  colored  cook,  Aunt  Belinda,  her  hands 
full  of  red  roses  with  their  leaves  damp  with 
dew. 

"  Now,  Mas'r  Paul,  you  go  'long  and  rest, 
and  don't  you  take  it  so  hard,"  she  said  in 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE      45 

her  deep,  rich  voice.  "  I  just  goin'  in  to  lay 
dese  by  old  Mas'r.  He  didn't  care  nuffin 
fur  'em  when  he  was  alive,  but  I  reckon  he 
knows  better  now ; "  and  she  passed  on  in  a 
glow  of  color  to  the  death  chamber. 

A  poignant  sense  of  encompassing  mys- 
tery, and  of  the  life  that  was  quick  all  about 
in  the  cool  night  air,  shot  through  him  as 
swift  pain.  Lifting  his  eyes  now  and  then, 
as  he  walked,  with  his  head  bent  and  his 
hands  clasped  behind  him,  he  saw  a  splendid 
white  moth  flutter  in  at  the  western  door, 
and,  flying  uncertainly,  float  out  toward  the 
great  stars  in  the  east.  The  young  man 
watched  it  with  passionate  question  and 
wonder  and  grief  written  on  his  face,  mak- 
ing it  even  more  of  an  enigma  than  it  had 
been  before. 


46       THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE 


IV 


J.  CERTAINLY  am  surprised,"  said  Uncle 
Peter  cheerily  one  morning,  as  he  ate  his 
oatmeal  from  a  blue  Japanese  bowl  with  an 
old-fashioned  silver  spoon  marked  "  A ; "  "I 
certainly  am  surprised.  I  always  expected  to 
go  first,  with  my  heart  weakness.  Now,  your 
father  had  nothing  the  matter  with  his  heart, 
had  he  ?  If  he  had,  I  never  knew  it ;  but 
then,  John  kept  everything  pretty  close." 

"  Not  so  far  as  I  know,"  answered  Paul 
from  behind  his  newspaper,  wondering  how 
soon  his  mother  would  come  down  and  break 
up  this  tete-a-tete. 

"I  got  it  from  my  great-grandmother 
Anne,"  pursued  Uncle  Peter,  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  heart, "  that,  and  my  love  of  beauty, 
and  this  set  of  silver  spoons.  That  sideboard 
was  hers,  too.  She  gave  it  to  my  father  and 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE      47 

he  left  it  to  John,  as  he  did  nearly  every- 
thing. Now  John  is  dead  and  it  is  all  yours. 
Well,  well,  well !  And  it  seems  only  yester- 
day that  you  were  in  knickerbockers." 

He  bestowed  a  congratulatory  smile  upon 
his  nephew,  who  scowled  and  held  the  news- 
paper before  his  face.  Even  Uncle  Peter 
should  know  better  than  this !  It  was  only  a 
week  since  John  Warren  had  been  laid  to 
rest  in  the  little  family  cemetery  by  the  sea, 
and  to  his  son  the  sense  of  possession  in  turf 
and  tree  and  wide  shore  line  brought  keen- 
est hurt. 

"  Don't  want  to  talk,  eh  !  "  said  the  older 
man  smilingly,  as  he  sat  with  his  head  tipped 
a  little  to  one  side  and  watched  his  nephew. 
"  Now,  I  always  do ;  get  that  from  my  grand- 
father on  mv  mother's  side,  Peter  Finch.  I 
j 

was  named  for  him,  and  inherited  his  socia- 
bility ;  queer  nobody  else  did." 

The  young  man  read  on,  and  Uncle  Peter 
chattered  to  the  coffee  pot,  while  the  June 
sunlight  streamed  in  through  the  rose  vines, 


48        THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

now  in  deep  red  bloom,  shading  the  windows 
toward  the  east,  and  across  the  dewy  grass  of 
the  lawn,  where  elm  and  pine  cast  shadows, 
always  longest  in  early  morning.  It  was 
a  large  room,  with  paneled  walls  and  high 
ceiling,  and  all  its  furnishings  were  in  keeping 
with  its  long  lines.  At  one  side  stood  a  huge 
mahogany  sideboard,  filled  with  old  blue 
china ;  an  enormous  mahogany  sofa  stretched 
halfway  across  one  end  of  the  room ;  the 
dining-table,  of  the  same  dark  wood,  daintily 
polished  so  that  it  reflected  the  faces  of  the 
two  men  as  they  bent  over  it,  was  massive 
and  unwieldy,  as  were  the  chairs  at  its  side. 
Even  the  plates  and  the  tablespoons  seemed 
larger  than  human  use  requires;  yet  the 
room,  with  all  that  it  contained,  had  a  cer- 
tain dignity,  and  bore  witness  to  the  strength 
of  the  race,  with  its  love  of  strong  things. 
Two  or  three  badly  painted  ancestral  por- 
traits in  tarnished  gilt  frames  upon  the  walls 
reflected,  almost  in  despite  of  the  painter, 
something  of  the  family  character ;  and  Paul 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE       49 

Hollis  Warren,  seen  in  full  light,  seemed  a 
not  unworthy  inheritor  of  the  family  traits 
and  possessions.  He  was  a  tall  man,  slender 
and  sinewy,  with  quiet  movements  and  firm- 
lipped  mouth.  Nothing  save  the  sudden  flash 
of  the  dark  gray  eyes,  or  the  wistful  look 
that  sometimes  crept  into  them,  betrayed  the 
drama  of  an  inner  life.  Generations  of  Puri- 
tan self-control  and  self-repression  had  left 
their  stamp  upon  the  fine,  thin  face,  young 
but  worn  by  the  elder  experiences  of  the  race, 
and  wearing  a  melancholy  seriousness  which 
was  broken  now  and  then  by  a  cynic  mirth- 
fulness  akin  to  tears. 

It  was  only  Uncle  Peter  who  was  out  of 
harmony  with  the  character  of  things  in  the 
great  dining-room.  Seated  in  his  massive- 
armed  chair,  he  suggested  a  figure  of  a  man 
done,  with  a  touch  of  caricature,  in  porcelain 
or  in  sugar  candy. 

"  Looks  like  the  play  doughnut  you  makes 
sometimes  for  the  chillen  wen  you  tia'd  of 
makin'  rale  doughnuts,"  once  said  Aunt  Be- 


linda,  the  colored  cook.  "  Like  's  not  that 's 
what  the  Lo'd  done  with  the  Warrenses  wen 
he  got  tia'd  of  makin'  rale  Warrens." 

Uncle  Peter  rose,  and,  going  to  the  side- 
board, produced  a  tall  bottle,  from  which  he 
poured  a  quantity  of  fluid  into  a  glass.  This, 
mixed  with  a  small  amount  of  water,  he 
drank  off  slowly,  with  much  smacking  of  his 
thin  lips. 

"  Indigestion,  Paul,"  he  explained  apolo- 
getically. "  Something  I  believe  you  never 
have.  A  drop  of  whiskey  does  me  a  world  of 
good ;  it  was  born  in  me,  you  know ;  came 
down  from  my  great-great-grandfather  War- 
ren, your  great  -  great  -  great  -  grandfather, 
you  know." 

"  From  all  I  've  heard,"  said  Paul  Warren, 
looking  up,  "it  would  be  just  as  well  to  let 
my  great  -  great  -  great  -  grandfather  Warren 
die  out." 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  Uncle  Peter  from  the 
sideboard,  shaking  his  finger  at  his  nephew. 
"You'll  discover  some  day  that  you  can't 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       51 

let  your  ancestors  die  out,  and  wherever  you 
go,  you  will  find  they  have  been  there  be- 
fore you.  Now  great-great-grandfather  War- 
ren led  a  gay  life ;  I  've  a  streak  of  that  in 
me ;  I  wish  to  goodness  you  had !  I  wish 
you  would  brighten  up  the  old  place,  now 
it 's  yours,  and  bring  gay  young  people  here, 
the  ( sound  of  revelry  by  night,'  you  know, 
and  all  that.  Come,  boy,  you  're  twenty- 
seven,  —  or  is  it  twenty-nine  ?  —  and  if  you 
are  ever  going  to  be  young  you'd  better 
begin.  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  waste  your 
days  in  that  library  and  on  the  shore  with 
your  gun." 

Study  of  ancestral  traits  was  the  occupa- 
tion of  Uncle  Peter's  life.  His  was  not  the 
vulgar  pride  which  plumes  itself  on  family 
possessions,  or  even  on  honorable  achieve- 
ments of  a  long  line  of  forbears ;  to  Uncle 
Peter  had  been  given  an  abiding  interest  in 
the  transgressions  of  those  gone  before  him, 
in  their  gloomy  mood,  their  wavering  be- 
tween good  and  ill.  None  escaped  him,  from 


52        THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

the  original  Paul  Warren,  who  had  tamed 
the  wilderness  and  had  built  by  the  sea  the 
old  stone  house  with  long,  sloping  roof  and 
mullioned  windows,  down  to  Mr.  Peter's  own 
father,  James  Francis  Warren,  who  had 
erected  the  great  house  in  which  his  son 
survived  him  so  comfortably.  There  were 
old  yellow  records,  old  letters,  old  tales,  from 
which  his  imagination  could  suck  a  gentle 
melancholy.  Sure  it  was  that  the  family  suc- 
cesses and  honors  had  induced  anything  but 
a  joyous  temper.  Even  the  luckless  ancestor 
chosen  by  Uncle  Peter  to  play  the  part  of 
scapegoat  for  his  own  shortcomings,  great- 
great-grandfather  Warren,  had  not  been  al- 
together happy  in  his  sins ;  and  James  Fran- 
cis Warren,  who  had  made  a  thing  of  beauty 
of  this  great  estate,  that  his  descendants 
might  dwell  there  forever,  transforming  its 
broad  acres  into  park  land  and  meadow  that 
almost  matched  in  beauty  the  far-off  Devon 
home ;  who  had  died  with  an  air  of  achieve- 
ment, gazing  up  at  the  high  ceiling  which  he 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       53 

had  built,  and  reflecting  that  his  son  John 
was  even  at  that  minute  sitting  in  Congress, 
had  felt  secretly  conscious  of  inner  lack.  In 
matters  of  this  world  they  had  certainly 
prospered,  these  Warrens,  both  in  the  main 
line  and  in  the  minor  branches  that  had  set- 
tled in  the  neighboring  towns  or  had  moved 
out  to  start  new  colonies  in  the  West.  As  a 
general  rule,  they  had  reassuring  bank  ac- 
counts, and  safes  well  lined  with  bonds  and 
mortgages,  and  yet  few  of  the  men  who 
told  their  descent  in  direct  line  from  Paul 
Warren  the  elder  had  known  content.  Their 
pent-up  energy  needed  a  wider  scope  than 
it  had  ever  known  since  those  earliest  days 
when  the  original  settler  had  tamed  the 
wilderness ;  and  the  mere  care  of  the  estate 
meant  too  slight  endeavor  for  the  strong- 
backed,  strong-limbed,  strong-minded,  hardy 
race.  The  early  struggles  over,  of  fighting 
for  mere  existence,  an  eager  force  of  mind 
and  body  began  to  turn  upon  itself,  eating 
into  its  own  substance,  and  intensity  of  inner 


54       THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

life  had  led  to  vivid  experiences  both  of  good 
and  of  ill.  There  had  been  saints  in  the 
family,  and  sinners  too ;  even  crime  had  not 
been  unknown  among  them,  and  tradition 
told  of  one  neighbor,  said  to  be  a  remote  an- 
cestor of  the  Bevannes,  shot  down  in  a  fit  of 
hot  anger  whose  cause  had  been  long  forgot- 
ten, but  whose  effects  lived  on  in  smoulder- 
ing enmity,  now  and  then  fanned  into  live 
flame.  It  was  possibly  a  recognition  of  dan- 
ger in  the  blood  which  had  induced  among 
the  Warrens,  generations  ago,  a  tendency 
toward  seclusion.  Solitary,  introspective, 
apart,  they  lived  within  themselves,  mating 
for  the  most  part  with  sweet,  weak  women, 
who  bent  or  broke  under  the  stronger  wills 
of  their  husbands.  Melancholia  had  become 
a  part  of  the  family  inheritance,  and  grand- 
father, father,  and  son,  shutting  themselves 
away  from  life,  had  built  up  a  world  of  false 
proportions,  where  great  issues  sometimes 
went  unnoticed,  and  trifles  bore  unusual 
weight.  They  grew  morbidly  sensitive  and 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE       55 

self-centred,  missing  the  even  measure  of 
things  held  by  those  who  share  a  larger  life 
than  their  own  ;  yet  most  of  them  were  good, 
if  rather  silent,  servants  of  church  and  of 
state,  —  high-tempered,  it  may  be,  but  high- 
minded  also,  contemptuous  of  hypocrisy  even 
when  shown  in  polite  lies,  and  of  all  but  sim- 
ple and  honest  action. 

It  had  come  to  pass,  for  places  grow  in 
time  to  wear  the  expression  of  the  spirits  who 
inhabit  them,  that  a  look  of  sadness  and  of 
melancholy  settled  down  over  the  old  War- 
ren place.  The  low  stone  wall  with  its  tall 
gateway ;  the  curving  drive,  somewhat  grass- 
grown  now ;  the  undipped  turf,  where  long 
grass  waved  after  it  should  have  been  cut ; 
the  wide  door  entering  the  great  hall  where 
the  tall  clock  ticked  slowly  on  the  stairs,  had 
a  look  of  isolation.  It  was  so  still  in  this  gen- 
eration, when  there  was  but  one  child  in  the 
house,  that  it  had  an  air  of  having  been  built 
in  primeval  quiet,  before  earth's  noises  be- 
gan. In  certain  corners  the  air  seemed  heavy 


56        THE.   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

with  the  morbid  ideas  of  the  dead  inhabit- 
ants ;  and  Uncle  Peter  had  a  fancy,  as  origi- 
nal as  it  was  convenient,  that  he  knew  places 
in  the  house  where  sudden  hope  would  seize 
you,  and  others  where  irresistible  passion 
would  tear  your  soul,  driving  you  out,  pow- 
erless, to  work  its  will.  At  least  it  was  true 
that  all  who  entered  the  house  either  by 
the  marriage  altar  or  by  the  gates  of  birth, 
learned  to  wear  the  inward  look  of  the  War- 
rens. Even  the  dogs  caught  the  family  tem- 
per, and  not  Hamlet  himself  had  greater 
suffering  of  mind  than  had  Robin  Hood,  the 
collie,  as  he  wandered  the  valley  of  inde- 
cision, where  his  master  had  worn  a  path, 
with  doubting  feet. 

Yet  John  Warren  had  played  a  not  inglo- 
rious part  in  the  history  of  the  countryside. 
After  a  somewhat  wayward  youth,  he  had 
settled  down  to  the  study  of  the  law,  and  had 
pursued  his  work  with  the  ease  and  calm  of 
a  man  whose  toil  is  a  pastime  and  not  a  means 
of  livelihood.  He  had  made  no  professional 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       57 

use  of  his  knowledge,  but,  after  being  ad- 
mitted to  the  bar,  had  played,  against  his  will, 
a  prominent  part  in  local  politics,  and  had 
reluctantly  gone  to  Washington  to  represent 
his  district  in  Congress.  No  eloquence  is 
recorded  of  him ;  the  Warrens  are  a  silent 
race,  with  speechlessness  often  more  potent 
than  words.  One  achievement  only  marked 
his  stay  in  the  capital,  —  he  came  home  with 
a  bride,  a  frail,  pretty  Southern  girl,  whom 
he  loved  with  an  ardor  that  puzzled  and 
sometimes  terrified  her.  John  Warren  should 
have  married  before  he  was  thirty-two,  his 
neighbors  said,  when  they  saw  the  sadness 
that  settled  down  on  the  young  wife's  face. 
She  was  but  twenty-four,  and  unused  to  prob- 
lems, and  the  family  expression  soon  fastened 
upon  her.  She  missed  the  broad  streets  of 
her  native  city,  the  crowded  receptions,  the 
gay  drives,  the  soft  Southern  vowels,  and  the 
warm  Southern  sun.  Only  Aunt  Belinda, 
whom  she  had  brought  with  her  to  her 
Northern  home,  could  console  her  when  the 


58       THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

passion  of  homesickness  came  ;  and  she  used 
to  steal  out  to  the  kitchen  at  twilight,  when 
the  day's  work  was  done,  to  hear  the  rich 
darky  dialect,  and  to  feel  the  comfort  of  that 
presence  which  seemed  to  radiate  all  the 
physical  joyousness  of  life. 

Year  after  year  she  watched  the  winter 
snowfalls,  and  the  melancholy  thawing  of 
the  snow ;  she  watched  the  coming  of  sum- 
mer, with  its  growth  of  young  grass  and 
tender  grain,  and  all  her  hurt  sense  of  lone- 
liness went  down  to  her  son  Paul,  whom  she 
loved  with  a  passion  that  was  touched  with 
awe.  The  sea  brought  her  no  message  of 
beauty  or  comfort,  and  something  of  the 
mystery  of  its  dim  horizon-line  had  crept 
into  the  soul  of  this  boy,  whose  thoughts 
were  not  her  thoughts,  and  whose  moods 
she  was  not  able  to  divine. 

She  came  late  into  the  breakfast  room  this 
morning,  a  gracious  figure  with  soft  gray 
hair,  wearing  a  black  morning  gown  that  fell 
in  ample  folds  about  her  feet.  There  were 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       59 

half  tears  in  her  sweet  blue  eyes,  —  home  of 
gentle  feelings  if  not  of  keen  thoughts,  —  as 
her  son  rose  to  draw  back  her  chair  and  bent 
to  kiss  heV. 

"Letters  for  you,  mother,"  said  Paul, 
gathering  a  sheaf  of  them  from  the  table. 

"  Letters?  "  she  echoed,  as  if  startled  that 
any  outside  thing  should  intrude  upon  her 
now;  and  she  adjusted  delicately  a  pair  of 
gold-bowed  eyeglasses,  turning  the  envelopes 
over  and  over  for  inspection.  The  one  that 
was  the  least  easy  to  understand,  addressed 
in  a  fine,  old-fashioned  feminine  handwriting, 
and  bearing  a  Southern  postmark,  she  opened 
first. 

My  dear  Emily  Parkes  Warren  (it  began), 
—  If  by  any  chance  you  remember  me  after 
these  years  of  silence,  there  will  be  no  need 
for  me  to  explain  that  I  am  Amy  Levine 
Dearborn,  and  your  fifth  cousin,  and  that  we 
were  school-children  together  in  Washing- 
ton forty  years  ago.  However,  it  is  not  of 


60       THE   COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

myself  that  I  would  write,  but  of  Eleanor 
Mason's  daughter.  Surely  you  remember 
Eleanor,  —  who  was  going  to  be  another 
Mrs.  Browning,  but  who  married  at  nineteen 
and  was  silent  forever  after  ?  Eleanor  died 
in  May  this  year,  and  her  only  daughter  has 
run  away.  She  is  an  impetuous  girl,  but  very 
spirited  and  bright ;  her  mother's  death  has 
broken  her  heart,  and  Frances  has  gone 
North,  insisting  on  being  alone,  and  refusing 
to  take  even  a  maid  with  her.  It  seems  that 
her  mother  was  once  at  a  little  inn  on  your 
New  England  coast,  and  the  girl  has  fled 
there  to  hide  her  grief  in  a  spot  that  her 
mother  knew.  The  name  of  the  place  is  the 
same  as  that  of  your  old  home ;  if  you  are 
still  there,  can  you  look  after  her  a  little  ? 
Forgive  me  if  I  am  asking  too  much ;  it  is 
only  for  Eleanor  Mason's  sake  that  I  venture. 
Moreover,  to  know  Frances  will  be  reward 
enough  for  any  trouble.  When  you  are  ac- 
quainted with  her  you  will  discover  where 
the  poetry  in  her  mother's  soul  has  gone. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       61 

Good-by,  my  dear  Emily.  Perhaps  some 
day  it  will  be  my  good  fortune  to  see  you 
again. 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

AMY  LEVINE  DEARBORN. 

The  gold-rimmed  glasses  dropped  from 
Mrs.  Warren's  eyes. 

"Paul,"  she  gasped,  "Paul,  is  n't  this  ex- 
traordinary ?  Of  course  I  want  to  see  Elea- 
nor Mason's  daughter,  but  where  can  she 
be?" 

"  Oh,  at  some  place  in  the  village,  prob- 
ably," answered  her  son.  "  You  can  find 
her  easily  enough.  I  '11  ask  the  postmas- 
ter." 

"  But  what  does  she  mean  by  saying  that 
when  I  know  her  I  shall  see  where  Eleanor's 
poetry  has  gone  ?  Perhaps  she  has  brought 
it  with  her  to  read  on  the  rocks." 

Here  Uncle  Peter's  shaky  fist  struck  the 
great  table  with  as  much  force  as  he  could 
summon. 


62        THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

"  By  the  bones  of  ray  ancestors,  that 's  the 
girl  I  saw  the  other  day  !  " 

"  Where  ? "  cried  Mrs.  Warren  eagerly. 
"  What  does  she  look  like  ?  " 

"  She  looks,"  answered  Uncle  Peter,  who 
also  had  his  poetic,  or  at  least  his  Byronic, 
moments, "  she  looks  like  moonlight  and  star- 
light. 'She  —  walks  —  in  beauty'  —  don't 

—  you  —  know  — '  like  —  the  night  —  of  - 
cloudless  —  climes  —  and — starry— skies  — 
and  —  all  -  -  that 's  —  best  —  of  —  dark  - 
and  —  bright  —  meet  —  in  —  her  —  aspect 

—  and  —  her  —  eyes.' ' 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE       63 


J_T  was  the  first  time  that  Eleanor  Mason's 
daughter  had  ever  seen  a  garden  which  had 
grown  old  by  the  sea.  She  wandered  out 
into  it  alone  at  the  noontide  of  this  June  day, 
for  Mrs.  Warren,  who  had  coaxed  the  girl  to 
share  the  solitude  of  an  occasion  when  her 
son  and  Uncle  Peter  were  both  absent  in  the 
city,  was  busy  giving  instructions  to  Aunt 
Belinda,  and  had  let  her  guest  go  free.  It  was 
only  yesterday  that  Mrs.  Warren  had  driven 
to  the  Emerson  Inn  to  seek  out  the  daughter 
of  her  old  friend,  and  had  waited  for  her  in 
the  green-and-gold  reception  room,  wistful, 
tremulous,  her  heart  beating  high  with  old 
memories  and  with  present  shyness.  Frances 
Wilmot,  entering,  had  paused  on  the  thresh- 
old, with  a  cloud  upon  her  white  forehead ; 
the  card  told  her  nothing,  —  she  knew  only 


64        THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

that  somebody  had  invaded  her  solitude.  But 
when  the  older  woman  rose  and  held  out  her 
hands  impetuously,  as  the  sight  of  the  girl's 
face  brushed  away  forty  years  of  her  life, 
saying,  "  I  was  a  friend  of  your  mother,  my 
dear,"  Frances  went  to  her  and  took  her 
hands,  holding  her  face  out  to  be  kissed.  To 
the  two  it  had  seemed  that  they  had  a  long 
past  to  talk  over ;  and  the  young  girl's  eyes 
grew  dim  at  meeting  her  mother  as  a  little 
child. 

She  was  strolling  bareheaded  down  the 
long  paths,  with  her  face  turned  slightly 
upward  that  the  sunlight  might  fall  there, 
and  she  was  drinking  deep  of  sea  air,  min- 
gled with  fragrance  of  sweet  peas  and  of 
tall  yellow  lilies.  Who  had  made  this  en- 
chanted garden,  she  was  wondering,  with 
its  high  walls  of  stone  that  reached  to  the 
brown  rocks,  beyond  which  the  blue  sea 
rolled  in  ?  It  was  guarded  by  spruce  trees 
and  cedars,  of  deeper  and  softer  green  than 
those  farther  inland,  breaking  the  splendor 


THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE       65 

of   its  color  where  beds  of   red  or  yellow 
roses  lay. 

It  was  the  original  Paul  Warren,  who, 
with  memories  of  his  Devonshire  home  fresh 
in  his  mind,  had  planned  to  make  a  garden 
spot  of  this  great  space  by  the  water,  though 
he  had  died,  weary  of  fighting  the  wilder- 
ness, before  anything  was  planted  there.  His 
children  and  grandchildren  had  broken  the 
sea-meadow  into  furrows  and  had  planted 
golden  corn  and  spreading  pumpkin  vines 
where  tall  reeds  had  grown  and  the  soft 
marsh  grasses  had  waved  in  the  wind.  Fluffy 
yellow  chickens  and  small  brown  peeping 
turkeys,  escaping  from  yard  or  coop,  had  gone 
pattering  up  and  down  the  spaces  where 
bobolinks  had  been  wont  to  sway  on  long 
grasses.  Blue  blossoms  of  flax  spread  where 
scarlet  queen-of-the-meadow  and  small  red 
August  lilies  had  grown.  It  was  the  wife  of 
the  great-great-great-grandfather  Warren  of 
reckless  fame  who  had  found  consolation  in 
the  long  years  of  her  widowhood  in  reclaim- 


66         THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

ing  a  part  of  the  space  from  vegetables  and 
giving  it  over  to  flowers.  The  beds  nearest 
the  house,  oval  or  oblong  or  star-shaped, 
had  been  planned  by  her,  although  the  white 
picket  fence  that  had  guarded  her  treasures 
was  gone. 

Of  the  reign  of  great-grandmother  Anne, 
who  had  been  a  lover  of  all  beautiful  things, 
nothing  remained  save  one  ragged,  sturdy 
rose  tree  climbing  over  the  southern  wall  of 
gray-brown  stone.  James  Francis  Warren, 
who  had  caused  the  walls  to  be  built,  had 
carefully  treasured  this  relic  of  the  past, 
training  it  away  from  its  old  wooden  trellis 
to  new  support.  He,  with  tastes  that  were, 
perhaps,  a  far-off  echo  of  those  of  the  first 
Paul  Warren's  father,  the  country  squire,  had 
extended  the  garden-space  to  the  edge  of 
the  sea,  and  had  planted  the  old  pear  trees, 
broken  and  knotted,  that  still  wakened  now 
and  then  to  life  and  put  forth  blossoms  on  the 
May  air.  In  this  fruit  garden  which  met  the 
space  of  flowers,  peach  trees  and  plum  and 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE       67 

cherry  stood  side  by  side,  with  neglected  cur- 
rant and  gooseberry  bushes  not  far  away. 
Still  a  few  luscious  bits  of  fruit  dropped 
from  the  broken  and  crumbling  limbs  into 
the  tangled  grass  below,  —  golden  pear,  or 
rose-flushed  peach,  or  plum  with  dim  purple 
bloom. 

Generations  of  Warrens  had  played  there 
in  childhood,  climbing  the  apple  trees,  mak- 
ing silken  doll  robes  out  of  scarlet  poppy 
petals,  and  royal  sceptres  of  sunflower  stems; 
generations  of  Warrens  had  paced  the  walks 
to  the  slow  beating  of  the  tide  on  the  rocks 
beyond,  dreaming  their  love  dreams;  and 
generations  of  white-haired  men  and  white- 
haired  women  had  tottered  up  and  down 
these  paths,  at  the  edge  of  eternity  and  of 
the  sea.  And  still,  though  half  neglected,  it 
was  full  of  all  old-fashioned,  lovely  things, 
—  yellow  crocus  and  white  in  earliest  spring, 
and  blood-red  tulips  later  when  the  grass 
sprang  fresh  and  green  ;  gorgeous  tiger  lilies 
and  red  poppies,  larkspur,  and  candytuft,  all 


68         THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

sweeter  in  perfume,  deeper  in  color,  for  the 
breath  of  the  sea  air. 

The  girl  who  was  walking  idly  through  it 
felt  the  long  story  that  she  did  not  know. 
Song  sparrows  were  twittering  among  the  dim 
blue  berries  of  the  cedars ;  a  great  bumble- 
bee was  humming  in  a  bush  of  old-fashioned 
single  roses,  deep  red,  with  golden  stamens ; 
and  about  it  all  flowed  the  melody  of  the  sea. 
Her  feet  kept  time  to  the  measure  and  to  that 
of  some  verses  that  would  not  be  quiet :  — 

I  know  a  little  garden  close 
Set  thick  with  lily  and  red  rose, 
Where  I  would  wander  if  I  might 
From  dewy  morn  to  dewy  night, 
And  have  one  with  me  wandering. 

And  though  within  it  no  birds  sing, 
And  though  no  pillared  house  is  there, 
And  though  the  apple  boughs  are  bare 
Of  fruit  and  blossom,  would  to  God 
Her  feet  upon  the  green  grass  trod 
And  I  beheld  them  as  before." 

For  her  grief  was  ever  present,  though 
wind  and  tide  had  begun,  without  her  know- 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       69 

ledge,  to  set  it  to  music  with  all  the  rest  of 
the  world. 

Wandering  with  no  aim  save  to  find  the 
spot  where  the  breeze  was  freshest  or  the 
fragrance  most  sweet,  she  came  suddenly 
upon  an  old  man  who  was  busily  weeding 
a  bed  of  cinnamon  pinks :  it  was  the  eldest 
Andrew  Lane.  The  hair  beneath  his  sun- 
browned  hat  was  white  as  snow,  as  was  the 
beard  that  touched  the  dull  blue  of  his  shirt. 
Hearing  a  footstep  he  looked  up,  turning 
to  the  girl  a  face  seamed  with  a  thousand 
wrinkles,  and  greeted  her  with  a  good-morn- 
ing. 

, "  It  is  a  very  beautiful  garden,"  said 
Frances  Wilmot  tentatively ;  this  old  man 
looked  as  if  he  might  have  most  interesting 
things  to  say.  .  . 

"I've  seen  wuss,"  he  answered,  weeding 
again.  "But  this  don't  hev  no  care  now. 
I  'm  gittin'  pretty  old." 

"You  ought  to  have  somebody  to  help 
you." 


"  I  don't  want  nobody  to  help  me,"  he  said 
shrilly,  "  till  I  'm  planted  myself.  Belindy, 
she  helps  about  weedin',  and  we  let  the  rest 

go." 

"  Have  you  worked  here  long  ?  "  asked  the 
girl,  drawing  nearer. 

"  Sence  them  walls  was  built,"  said  the  old 
gardener, "  and  that 's  sixty  year  ago.  I  've 
took  care  of  the  place  ever  sence,  havin* 
help,  of  course.  Lord,  in  James  Francis 
Warren's  day  it  was  a  garden :  not  an  extry 
leaf  on  anything,  and  every  bush  and  tree 
trimmed  like  a  pinted  beard." 

"  I  like  it  a  great  deal  better  this  way," 
said  the  girl  confidingly,  "  just  half  running 
wild." 

"  Do  you,  now  ?  "  said  old  Andrew  Lane. 
"  That 's  cur'us  ;  what  fur  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  she  answered  lightly,  "  it  looks  as 
if  things  had  happened,  and  as  if  it  were  full 
of  meanings.  There 's  an  air  of  mystery  or 
something  about  it." 

The  toothless  smile  of  the  old  man's  face 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       71 

vanished,  and  a  shrewd  look  crept  into  the 
pale  blue  eyes  under  the  sunken  eyebrows. 

"  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  no  myst'ry," 
he  said  sullenly,  going  back  to  his  weeding 
with  vigor ;  nor  could  she  win  any  further 
conversation  from  him,  nor  from  his  small 
great-grandchild,  Andy,  who  toddled  after 
the  old  man,  in  tiny  overalls  of  yellow. 

In  the  afternoon  she  went  with  Mrs.  War- 
ren about  the  great  house,  which,  after  the 
fashion  of  earlier  days,  faced,  not  the  sea, 
but  the  highway.  Outside,  the  young  sum- 
mer had  touched  its  age  to  freshness:  wis- 
taria, still  fragrant  with  clusters  of  late  blos- 
soms, climbed  the  tall  white  pillars,  and  the 
long  festoons  of  woodbine  wore  new,  flushed 
leaves  and  tendrils.  Pale  purple  lilacs  were 
in  bloom  by  the  white  southern  wall,  and 
the  faded  blue-green  blinds  of  the  parlor  win- 
dows made  a  most  lovely  background  for  the 
climbing  white  roses  that  had  crept  over 
them  and  had  fastened  them  permanently 
open. 


"  It  is  just  like  home,  is  n't  it  ?  "  said  the 
Southern  girl. 

"  It  has  never  seemed  so  to  me,"  answered 
the  elder  lady,  puzzled,  for  home  to  her  had 
meant  the  gay  life  that  had  gone  on  in  it. 

The  dimly  lighted  interior  showed  little 
trace  of  springtime  ;  old  furniture,  old  hang- 
ings, suggested  only  the  past.  They  paused 
for  a  time  in  the  library,  whose  worn  leather 
chairs  bespoke  long  use,  and  whose  great 
bookshelves  were  filled  with  volumes  that 
revealed  solid  tastes  and  thoughtful  minds. 

"  My  son  spends  much  of  his  time  here. 
He  —  he  writes,"  said  Mrs.  Warren  apolo- 
getically, for  she  was  filled  with  a  new 
sense  of  the  difference  between  Paul  and 
the  gallant  young  heroes  of  the  South. 
He  could  do  much  if  he  only  would  to  en- 
liven the  stay  of  this  charming  girl  in  the 
North,  but  he  cared  little  for  women,  and 
less  for  young  ones,  and  his  mother  sighed 
softly. 

"  Please   come  into   the   garden   again," 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       73 

pleaded  Frances.  "  I  cannot  bear  to  be  away 
from  it." 

Mrs.  Warren  looked  at  her  in  wonder,  but 
said  nothing,  for  in  later  years  she  had  learned 
more  and  more  to  stay  silent  until  she  un- 
derstood. As  she  paced  the  old  paths  with 
this  girl  at  her  side,  it  seemed  to  her  that  the 
whole  expression  of  the  place  changed.  Tree, 
flower,  and  vine  took  on  softer  and  brighter 
colors;  the  eerie  sounds  that  had  haunted 
her  ears  grew  almost  joyous,  and  the  old- 
fashioned  sailing  boat,  the  Sea  Gull,  riding 
the  waves  in  the  sheltered  cove  by  the  house, 
seemed  to  tug  at  its  moorings  as  with  desire 
to  be  free  and  to  dance. 

"  Ought  n't  you  to  have  your  hat  on,  to 
keep  from  spoiling  your  complexion  ?"  she 
asked,  with  a  sudden  sense  of  responsi- 
bility. 

The  girl's  laugh  rang  out  sweetly.  "  Young 
women  nowadays  never  think  of  their  com- 
plexions," she  answered,  and  Mrs.  Warren 
frowned  a  puzzled  little  frown.  Fewer  and 


74        THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

fewer  people  thought  her  thoughts  or  spoke 
her  language,  as  she  grew  older. 

"  This  place  must  have  been  the  greatest 
joy  to  you,"  said  Frances  suddenly. 

"  It  has  been  rather  an  anxiety,"  said 
Mrs.  Warren.  "  The  gardener  has  grown  so 
old  that  he  can  work  only  a  little  and  on 
sunshiny  days,  and  it  all  needs  clipping  and 
trimming.  Paul  does  not  understand,  and 
says  he  likes  it  this  way." 

"  It  looks  like  a  garden  in  a  fairy  story, 
the  one  where  Beauty  met  the  Beast "  — 

"  I  never  read  fairy  stories,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Warren. 

"  Or  the  Garden  of  Hesperides,  where 
the  golden  apples  grew." 

"  We  have  very  few  apples  now,  and  only 
red  ones,  though  of  course  I  know  that  is 
not  what  you  mean,"  observed  the  hostess 
regretfully. 

The  conversation  drifted  over  to  Paul 
Warren,  who  had  come  home  by  the  four 
o'clock  train,  and  who  was  pacing  his  favor- 


THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE       75 

ite  garden  path,  hidden,  close  by  the  north 
wall,  by  an  arbor  vitse  hedge.  If  the  truth 
must  be  known,  he  had  taken  refuge  there 
to  avoid  his  mother's  guest.  The  girl's  voice 
startled  him  :  melodious  and  full,  it  sounded 
like  hidden  music  along  his  nerves.  There 
were  ripples  of  laughter  in  it,  and  soft  lit- 
tle murmurs  of  sadness  ;  and  it  played  upon 
him  as  fingers  play  upon  keys.  The  fact 
that  it  belonged  to  a  woman  did  not  inter- 
est him ;  it  was  as  if  he  had  discovered  a 
new  art. 

He  waited  until  the  sound  of  familiar 
hoof-beats  assured  him  that  the  guest  was 
being  driven  home  in  the  old-fashioned  fam- 
ily .carriage,  and  then  came  out  of  his  re- 
treat, self-reproachful  when  he  heard  his 
mother's  laments  that  he  had  not  come  home 
in  time  to  meet  the  child  of  her  old  friend. 


76       THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE 


VI 


JLHE  lowest  ebb  of  the  tide  came  in  the 
early  afternoon,  and  the  curving  sand  beach 
that  lay  just  beyond  the  Warren  homestead, 
like  a  sickle  of  pale  gold  cutting  the  blue 
water  from  green  grassy  meadow,  stretched 
parched  and  dry  in  the  glare  of  the  summer 
sun.  Bird  songs  were  hushed,  but  the  low 
hum  of  insects  was  on  the  hot  air,  and  from 
far,  with  an  ironic  sound  as  of  cool  water 
retreating  from  thirsty  need,  came  the  rip- 
ple of  withdrawing  waves.  Paul  Warren, 
restlessly  active  in  the  languid  air,  was  walk- 
ing up  and  down  the  veranda,  keeping  pace 
with  grief,  for  step  by  step  beside  him  he 
seemed  to  hear  the  echo  of  the  footfall  that 
had  so  often  sounded  with  his  own.  Sud- 
denly a  soft  nose  was  thrust  into  his  hand 
with  a  long,  mournful  whimper,  and  two 


great  golden-brown  eyes  were  lifted  to  his  in 
passionate  entreaty  :  Robin  Hood  was  still 
hunting  for  his  master. 

"  Poor  old  fellow  !  "  said  Paul,  patting  the 
upturned  head,  "  I  would  give  him  back  to 
hunting  you  if  I  could." 

The  old  dog  sniffed  anxiously  at  the  young 
man's  coat  and  hands,  then  drew  away  and 
gazed  with  eyes  in  which  the  look  of  en- 
treaty was  changing  to  one  of  deep  reproach. 

"  It  is  something  I  do  not  understand  any 
better  than  you  do,  Robin,  and  yet  I  know 
you  don't  believe  me.  You  are  saying  to 
yourself  :  '  Whose  fault  is  it,  then,  if  not 
yours,  and  where  have  you  hidden  him 
away?'" 

Robin,  as  if  assenting,  walked  away  with 
a  low  growl,  and  his  young  master,  ever 
quick  of  sympathy  with  dumb  beasts,  looked 
after  him  with  eyes  that  matched  his  own  in 
depth  of  puzzled  sorrow. 

Here  Uncle  Peter  strolled  out  upon  the 
veranda,  fresh  and  smiling,  with  a  cigarette 


78       THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

between  his  teeth,  and  under  his  arm  a  paper- 
covered  novel  drawn  from  a  large  and  varied 
store  which  he  had  been  accumulating  for 
more  than  forty  years.  With  a  swift  move- 
ment, Paul  slipped  into  the  library  in  time 
to  escape,  and  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  at  the 
sight  of  the  shelves  where  his  beloved,  silent 
friends  awaited  him,  and  where  sense  and 
spirit  could  rest  in  the  mellow  coloring  of 
old  leather  chairs  and  worn  volumes.  As  he 
loved  for  their  solitude  certain  lonely  parts 
of  the  shore  where  his  own  best  thoughts 
seemed  always  to  await  him,  he  loved  the 
quiet  of  this  spot ;  and  now,  without  opening 
a  book,  he  touched  one  after  another  with 
his  finger  tips,  —  Spinoza,  Kant,  Sir  Thomas 
Browne,  the  thinkers  great  and  small  whose 
minds  had  kindled  his  own,  almost  fancying 
that  he  felt  a  responsive  pressure  from  the 
leather-bound  volumes.  The  old  black-letter 
romances  and  the  illuminated  missal  in  the 
cabinet  by  the  fireplace  must  surely  share 
his  sense  of  loss,  —  so  great  had  been  his 


father's  pride  in  them ;  and  the  worn  copies 
of  Spencer  and  Huxley  must  miss  the  hands 
that  were  gone.  The  cover  of  Darwin's  "  De- 
scent of  Man "  was  torn  where  Robin  had 
chewed  it  as  John  Warren  went  to  sleep 
in  his  chair  one  day,  and  Paul  touched  it 
with  gentle  fingers,  remembering.  So  they 
had  passed  on,  generation  by  generation,  he 
mused,  leaving  here  upon  the  library  shelves 
a  record  of  their  tastes  and  of  their  callings, 
like  driftwood  cast  up  by  the  sea.  The  set  of 
antique  sermons  had  belonged  to  the  min- 
isterial ancestor ;  the  old  dramas  to  one  who 
had  a  liking  for  written  plays ;  the  "  Specta- 
tors "  and  "  Ramblers "  to  his  grandfather, 
James  Francis  Warren;  and  here  was  he, 
Paul,  with  his  huge  volumes  of  German  phi- 
losophy, his  row  of  French  essayists  in  their 
yellow  paper  covers,  and  his  abiding  sense 
of  the  world's  lack  of  need  of  him.  Softened 
light  came  into  the  great  room  through  the 
half -closed  shutters ;  a  golden  bumblebee 
wandered  in  on  a  ray  of  sunlight  and  had 


80        THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

difficulty  in  finding  his  way  out ;  warm  fra- 
grance of  all  things  blossoming  in  the  gar- 
den stole  in  on  the  breeze.  The  young  man 
dropped  into  a  great  leather-covered  chair, 
flung  his  arms  down  upon  the  table,  over 
some  sheets  of  his  own  manuscript  where  the 
ink  had  dried  ten  days  ago,  and  buried  his 
face  in  them  to  rest.  Here,  and  here  only, 
the  awful  sense  of  difference  was  gone,  and 
the  quick  and  the  dead  were  alike.  Then,  in 
the  silence,  his  mind  began  to  travel  the  old 
ways  of  question :  what  was  it  all  for,  the 
bootless  search,  the  suffering,  the  long  think- 
ing, and  the  pain?  Surely  there  was  but 
small  return  for  the  great  demands  that  life 
made  upon  one's  power  to  endure. 

Slowly  the  shadowed  days  of  all  his  life 
came  back  to  him  ;  the  boyhood  spent  in  the 
gloomy  house,  where  the  long  silences,  his 
mother's  unspoken  sadness,  and  Uncle  Peter's 
morbid  fancies  regarding  the  past  had  cast 
a  spell  upon  him  ;  and  then  the  years  of 
study  when  he  had  grown  from  child  to 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       81 

man,  coming  home  at  each  vacation  to  find 
the  old  house  absolutely  unchanged.  Through 
the  dull  color  of  it  all  a  sense  of  his  father's 
pride  and  interest  in  his  son  had  run  like  a 
thread  of  gold.  It  was  he  who  had  guided 
the  child's  reading,  giving  him  books  un- 
known to  most  boys  of  ten  and  of  twelve ; 
it  was  he  who  had  sat  quietly  chuckling  at  his 
son's  comments  on  men  and  on  things ;  for 
an  insight  into  the  ironies  of  life  had  come 
to  the  lad  too  easily  and  too  soon,  and  the 
words  of  his  tongue  were  as  the  fine  prick- 
ing of  a  delicately  pointed  weapon ;  it  was 
he  who  had  fostered  the  boy's  gift  for  writ- 
ing, coaxing  the  dark-haired  youngster,  who 
had  always  an  elusive  look  in  his  eyes,  to  sit 
upon  his  knee  and  repeat  the  verses  he  had 
written.  Paul  did  it  shyly,  the  color  deep- 
ening in  his  cheeks ;  and  even  now  he  could 
remember  the  thrill  of  joy  that  came  when 
his  father  patted  him  on  the  head  and 
praised  him,  for  words  of  praise  and  caresses 
had  been  few  and  far  between.  Sometimes 


82       THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

the  inherited  mood  of  sadness  had  been 
broken  by  charmed  moments  when  sudden 
enchantment  visited  him,  and,  surrendering 
to  the  unconscious  spell  of  warm  sunshine 
on  fragrant  flowers,  or  of  the  beat  of  a  sum- 
mer shower  on  the  window-pane,  he  dreamed 
rare  dreams  of  happiness  and  of  great 
achievement. 

Always  Paul  had  loved  the  old  house, 
whose  expression  had  settled  early  upon  his 
childish  face.  He  liked  its  dark  corners  and 
mysterious  doorways,  especially  the  awful 
one  leading  to  the  garret,  which  he  used  to 
pass  at  twilight,  just  to  see  if  he  dared, 
glorying  in  the  cold  shivers  that  crept  up 
and  down  his  back.  He  loved  the  ancestral 
pictures  in  the  parlor  and  above  the  wind- 
ing stairs,  where  they  hung  with  the  corner 
of  each  gilt  frame  touching  the  one  next 
higher.  The  faces  that  smiled  and  were 
sweet  appealed  to  him  less  than  did  certain 
portraits  wearing  a  melancholy  and  sin- 
stricken  look.  One,  which  hung  just  above 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       83 

the  landing  by  the  old  clock,  always  terri- 
fied him  :  it  was  his  wicked  great-great-great- 
grandfather Warren,  looking  out  from  the 
canvas  with  a  dare-devil  expression.  Alone, 
in  the  dark,  Paul  sometimes  felt  that  scowl 
close  behind  him,  quite  disembodied,  and  the 
sharp  hairs  of  the  eyebrows  seemed  to  prick 
his  neck  as  the  phantom  ancestor  stealthily 
pursued ;  for  the  grotesque  theories  of  Uncle 
Peter  had  peopled  passageway  and  chamber 
with  a  terrible  race,  all  the  more  real  be- 
cause invisible,  forever  lying  in  wait.  Under 
his  conjuring  tongue  old  mood  and  old  trans- 
gression became  again  alive  and  potent  to 
harm ;  and  that  which  was  to  him  a  species 
of  intellectual  entertainment,  as  his  imagin- 
ative power  met  the  challenge  of  the  child's 
deep  eyes,  and  fabled  further,  became  the 
very  warp  and  woof  of  the  boy's  thoughts 
by  day,  and  of  his  dreams  by  night. 

In  time  the  sheer  fascination  of  story  be- 
gan to  mingle  with  a  questioning  of  good 
and  of  ill,  and  he  knew  a  different  fear :  that 


84       THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

this  sensual  mouth,  that  cruel  eye,  among 
the  painted  features,  might  come  to  be  his 
own.  In  one  dim  face  on  the  library  wall 
supreme  terror  lay  for  him  in  the  bulge  of 
the  lip  and  the  lines  about  the  eyes;  and, 
dreaming  for  himself  especial  cause  for  stern 
self-discipline,  he  grew  into  a  tall  lad  of  mor- 
bid fancies,  who  had  early  begun  to  think  of 
himself  as  cursed  by  destiny  to  stand  apart. 
To  stand  apart !  That  had  been  the  key- 
note of  Paul  Warren's  life,  through  his  school 
years,  through  college,  through  his  law  study. 
He  had  made  his  mark  as  a  man  of  wide  read- 
ing and  of  literary  power,  shown  chiefly  in  a 
fine  keenness  of  judgment,  but  his  strength 
of  mind  and  of  character  had  brought  him 
little  comfort  for  the  unexplained  grief  of 
being ;  and  melancholy,  which  knows  no 
logic,  had  early  gained  a  deep  hold  upon 
him.  Forming  for  himself  an  impossibly  high 
ideal  of  blameless  conduct,  he  lashed  him- 
self mercilessly  for  failure  to  reach  the  super- 
human, the  man's  self-criticism  being  imper- 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       85 

ceptibly  tinged  by  the  boy's  belief  in  awful 
hereditary  impulse  that  might  at  any  time 
undo  him  unaware.  Remote  ancestral  sins 
and  uncommitted  sins  of  his  own  became, 
in  his  long  brooding,  inextricably  confused, 
and  so  long  had  he  walked  with  shadows  that 
the  distinction  between  mist  and  headland 
was  no  longer  clear.  Only  this  seemed  plain, 
that  the  great  stream  of  human  life  was  not 
for  him :  birth  he  had  shared  with  the  rest 
of  the  race  ;  death  he  must  share  ;  but  love 
and  marriage  and  dreams  of  happiness  were 
not  his  portion.  Half  in  fear,  half  in  shy- 
ness, he  shunned  women  ;  and  few  ventured 
beyond  an  interested  scrutiny  of  the  dark 
face  with  the  gleam  of  fire  in  the  eyes,  and 
the  occasional  sensitive  quiver  of  the  lip. 
Driven  back  upon  a  world  of  his  own  creating, 
he  lived  with  his  books  and  his  pen,  the  old 
ironic  sense  of  things  constantly  deepening, 
as  smothered  passion  and  imaginative  power 
struggled  vainly  for  expression. 

That  feeling  of  the  profound  irony  of  ex- 


86        THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

istence  was  strong  upon  him  at  this  moment, 
as  he  thought  of  the  quiet  companionship 
with  his  father  by  the  open  fire  on  winter 
evenings,  or  on  the  veranda  under  the  sum- 
mer stars,  and  remembered  the  mound  of 
earth  in  the  green  cemetery,  with  the  know- 
ledge that  there  was  nobody  now  who  could 
keep  silence  and  understand.  Then,  vainly 
brooding  over  the  why  and  the  wherefore  of 
human  love  and  of  loss,  he  grew  dimly  aware 
of  something  tugging  at  pulse  and  nerve : 
an  overmastering  desire  to  grasp  this  pro- 
found sense  of  greatness  which  he  felt  throb- 
bing at  the  heart  of  pain.  Stung  to  new  life 
by  the  poignant  hurt  of  grief  in  a  soul  woven 
in  grays  out  of  other  people's  sorrows  and 
misfortunes,  he  quivered  with  a  sudden  in- 
tuition of  what  it  might  mean  to  know  and 
share  all  the  common  lot. 

His  restlessness  drew  him  forth  from  the 
library  to  pace  the  graveled  drive ;  there 
drooping  leaf  and  grass  blade,  and  the  far 
murmur  of  the  waves,  chimed  with  his  sense 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       87 

of  life  withdrawn.  From  the  gateway  his 
eyes  wandered  over  the  wide  sweep  of  coun- 
try, and  he  saw  the  curling  road  that  led 
past  the  gray  stone  tower  of  his  mother's 
church,  St.  Mark's,  and  the  grove  of  scraggly 
locusts  that  marked  the  home  of  the  Be- 
vannes.  The  thought  of  the  name  startled 
him,  recalling  the  words  of  deep  hatred  that 
his  father  had  uttered  in  the  solemn  moment 
of  dying,  and  he  searched  his  memory  for 
some  incident  in  the  long  family  quarrel 
which  could  explain  them.  Grave  misdeed 
had  there  been  in  the  remote  past,  and  tra- 
dition told  of  constant  trouble  between  this 
impetuous  race  of  the  Bevannes,  with  their 
strain  of  French  blood,  and  his  own  solid 
English  forbears.  He  was  aware  that  the 
latter,  who  were  both  reticent  and  proud, 
had  a  way  of  treating  offenses  up  to  a  cer- 
tain point  as  not  worth  noticing,  and  beyond 
that  as  past  forgiveness,  but  he  could  remem- 
ber nothing  that  could  account  for  so  great 
intensity  of  present  feeling.  As  he  wondered, 


88       THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

swift  changes  of  expression  flitted  across  his 
face,  —  shocked,  deep  pity  for  the  father  in 
whom  primitive  passion,  flaming  up  at  that 
great  hour,  had  consumed  all  else ;  deepened 
love  where  he  failed  to  understand ;  and  a 
humorous  compassion  for  himself  as  failing 
to  share  the  elemental  feelings  of  the  race, 
were  all  written  there.  What  should  he  do 
with  this  heritage  ?  he  asked  himself  whim- 
sically, he  who  had  no  quarrel  with  any  man, 
who  did  not  know  the  cause  of  his  father's 
deadly  anger,  and  who,  perhaps,  did  not  care 
strongly  enough  to  hate. 

He  strolled  back  in  the  warm  air  to  the 
house  and  out  into  the  garden  paths,  full 
once  more  of  the  old  weary  feeling  that  he 
had  little  use  for  the  world  and  its  puzzles. 

"I  have  a  fundamental  prejudice  against 
all  conundrums,"  he  murmured  to  himself ; 
then  suddenly,  and  without  warning,  he 
walked  into  a  world  entirely  new. 

There,  by  the  tall  white  summer  lilies, 
whose  fragrance  made  sweet  the  summer 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       89 

air,  stood  a  tall,  white  girl  with  a  branch  of 
spiraea  in  her  hand,  her  dark  hair  bare  in  the 
sunlight,  and  her  dark  eyes  full  of  dreams. 
When  she  heard  his  step,  she  looked  up  but 
did  not  move.  Paul  Hollis  Warren  swiftly 
removed  his  hat  and  introduced  himself : 
when  brought  to  bay,  he  was  a  young  man 
of  complete  self-possession  and  fine  cour- 
tesy. 

"  You  are  my  mother's  friend,  Miss  Wil- 
mot,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand.  "  May 
I  present  myself  as  my  mother's  son  ?  " 

The  girl  took  his  offered  hand,  but  did  not 
speak. 

"  If  it  is  not  impertinent,"  said  Paul,  "  I 
should  like  to  ask  why  you  look  so  sur- 
prised." 

"  Because,"  answered  the  stranger,  half 
seriously,  "  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea  that 
you  were  real." 

"  I  'm  not,  altogether,"  confessed  the  host. 
"  None  of  us  are,  I  presume.  But  what  did 
you  think  me  ?  " 


90       THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

"  I  thought  that  you  were  part  of  this  en- 
chanted garden,  and  of  the  past." 

"  Indeed  ?  " 

"  I  thought  that  you  belonged  with  Mr. 
Peter's  phantom  ancestors,  the  wicked  one, 
and  great-grandmother  Anne.  I  thought 
that  the  ghosts  about  this  spot  needed  ajeime 
premier)  and  that  you  had  been  invented 
for  the  purpose  and  named  Mr.  Paul  Hollis 
Warren." 

"  But  my  mother  "  — 

"  I  thought  that  you  were  just  a  Delusion 
of  a  Son  that  the  dear  lady  had  fashioned 
out  of  dreams  for  her  comfort.  You  will 
admit  that  you  have  the  property  of  being 
invisible  ?  " 

"  I  admit  that  I  have  it  at  times,"  an- 
swered Paul,  with  a  smile  of  unwonted  gay- 
ety.  "  Do  you  believe  in  nothing  but  what 
you  see  ?  " 

"  But  I  have  been  here  so  many  times, 
and  you  have  not  deigned  to  put  on  flesh 
and  blood." 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       91 

"  I  have  been  very  busy,"  explained  Paul 
quietly. 

The  gravity  in  the  girl's  face  broke,  her 
dimple  quivered,  and  her  eyes  danced. 

"  If  I  may  give  you  a  suggestion,  you  do 
not  manage  your  exits  and  your  entrances 
as  well  as  they  did  in  the  Arabian  Nights. 
There  is  just  a  minute  at  the  transformation 
when  you  are  visible.  Once  it  was  at  the  end 
of  the  garden  walk  that  the  change  came  ; 
once  it  was  in  the  library,  and  you  left  so 
hastily  that  the  door  was  still  in  motion.  A 
genuine  ghost  goes  through  the  keyhole  !  " 

"  I  find  the  door  a  very  comfortable  means 
of  exit,  thank  you." 

"  It  may  all  be  comfortable  for  you,"  said 
the  girl  severely,  "  but  it  is  very  uncomfort- 
able for  me.  Mrs.  Warren  insists  that  she 
finds  comfort  in  my  presence,  and  that  she 
likes  to  have  me  with  her.  But  it  is  not 
quite  pleasant  to  think  that  I  have  driven 
the  master  of  the  house  to  play  the  part  of 
castle  spectre." 


92       THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

"  I  assure  you  that  I  have  been  absorbed 
in  other  things.  It  would  grieve  me  deeply, 
Miss  Wilmot,  if  you  should  take  back  one 
minute  of  the  time  that  you  might  give  my 
mother." 

"  Will  you  make  a  compact  with  me  ?  " 
asked  Frances  Wilmot,  noting  the  softened 
look  that  came  into  the  young  man's  face  as 
he  spoke  of  his  mother.  "  I  should  be  very 
sorry  to  deprive  Mrs.  Warren  of  anything 
that  may  give  her  the  slightest  pleasure.  If 
you  will  stay  in  your  accustomed  places,  so 
that  Mrs.  Warren  may  still  realize  that  she 
has  a  son,  I  will  promise  to  treat  you  as  if 
you  were  invisible.  I  will  pretend  that  you 
are  n't  there,  and  will  never  see  you !  " 

"  I  am  not  quite  ready  to  agree  to  that," 
said  Paul,  laughing  outright,  and  looking  at 
her  curiously. 

"  Then  I  shall  stay  away." 

"  Oh,  I  will  promise,  if  you  are  serious," 
he  said  hastily. 

His  mind  was  full  of  a  bit  of  old  story 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE       93 

which  he  had  read  on  some  serious  page, — 
his  knowledge  of  myth  was  strictly  confined 
to  footnotes,  —  of  a  maiden  who  had  come 
beckoning  out  of  the  world  beyond  the  edge 
of  things  with  a  spray  of  white  blossoms  in 
her  hand,  and  had  witched  a  mortal  man 
away  with  her  to  live  forever  and  a  day  in 
fairyland.  She  must  have  looked  like  this 
girl  before  him,  and,  when  she  stepped  into 
the  world  of  every-day,  must  have  wrought 
some  such  change  on  grass  and  tree  and 
flower. 


94       THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE 


VII 


JL  HE  little  gray  stone  church  of  St.  Mark's 
stood  well  within  the  hearing  of  the  tide, 
near  a  shingly  beach  where  long,  gentle 
breakers  were  rolling  monotonously  in  on 
this  June  morning.  Frances  Wilmot,  rever- 
ent and  rebellious,  sad  and  again  at  peace, 
as  the  words  of  the  long  service  smote  now 
this  chord  and  now  that,  closed  her  eyes 
again  and  again,  only  for  the  pleasure  of 
opening  them  suddenly  to  steal  a  long  glance 
through  the  window  near,  where,  beyond  the 
encircling  green  ivy  leaves,  she  could  look 
out  across  the  shining  water  of  palest  blue. 
Word  and  phrase  from  old  romance  drifted 
back  to  her,  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  too,  like 
the  wandering  knight,  had  found  a  little 
chapel  by  the  side  of  the  "  leaved  wood ; " 
and  as  if  across  the  waves  might  come  the 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE       95 

ship  that  moved  without  sail  or  oar,  carry- 
ing Perceval  on  his  quest  of  the  Holy  Grail. 
Sweet  from  the  sea  stole  in  the  breeze  to 
creep  about  the  altar,  and  the  ivy  leaves 
trembled  against  it  as  it  came.  Murmur  of 
water  and  murmur  of  organ  blended  into  one 
soft  music;  then  suddenly  out  of  the  low 
melody  sprang  splendid  power  of  sound, 
bringing  a  swift  sense  of  glory  walking  on 
the  water. 

Her  friends  from  the  Inn  were  all  there, 
and,  in  the  pauses  of  their  own  devotions, 
they  stole  involuntary  glances  now  and  then 
toward  the  girl  who  had  become  the  centre 
of  their  thoughts,  to  see  how  she  was  per- 
forming hers.  But  the  music  won  them  all, 
and  swept  them  out  from  thoughts  like  these 
to  moods  as  great  as  the  encircling  horizon 
line,  and  for  a  moment  the  sweep  of  the  sea 
and  of  the  winds  of  God  was  in  their  souls. 

With  a  sudden  beat  as  of  triumph  the  re- 
cessional ceased,  and  the  moment  set  to  mel- 
ody was  over.  The  members  of  the  congre- 


96        THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

gation  of  St.  Mark's  realized  that  they  were 
out  upon  the  green  in  front  of  the  little 
church,  the  music  to  which  they  had  been 
stepping  still  keeping  rhythm  in  their  feet. 
Even  Paul  Warren,  who  cared  more  for  the 
harmony  of  high  thoughts  than  for  beaten 
measures,  was  conscious  that  the  air  about 
him  was  more  exquisitely  attuned  than  was 
its  wont,  and  no  sooner  was  he  aware  of  this 
than  there  came  a  sudden  breaking  of  its 
perfectness.  He  was  waiting  while  his  mo- 
ther stopped  to  speak  to  Miss  Wilmot,  when 
a  stranger  came  forward  to  meet  him,  —  a 
stranger  with  a  face  that  he  knew.  It  was 
a  man  of  his  own  age,  slender  and  supple, 
with  an  ingratiating  air  in  his  bright  blue 
eyes  and  about  his  smiling  mouth.  There 
was  a  touch  of  hesitancy  in  the  newcomer's 
manner  as  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  have  met, 
but  you  have  not  forgotten  Alec  Bevanne, 
I  hope?" 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Paul  Warren,  re- 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE      97 

turning  the  handshake,  "  though  it  must  be 
a  matter  of  fifteen  years  or  so  since  I've 
seen  you." 

"Odd  that  we  should  have  missed  each 
other  constantly.  You  've  been  back  at  the 
old  place  now  and  then  ?  " 

"  Often,  in  summer.  You  were  abroad 
when  I  heard  of  you  last." 

The  young  man  nodded,  smiling. 

"  Digging,  yes.  I  've  done  a  lot  of  it, 
Paris  mostly.  Now  it 's  my  turn  to  set  other 
youngsters  at  it." 

As  Paul  Warren  looked  at  his  old  play- 
mate, thinking  how  oddly  the  new  half-seri- 
ous look  sat  upon  the  face  which  was  asso- 
ciated in  his  mind  with  prisoner's  base  and 
marbles,  and  wondering  how  that  headlong 
nature,  given  to  quick  deed  and  quick  re- 
penting, in  flashes  of  emotion  or  of  momen- 
tary conviction,  could  adapt  itself  to  the 
routine  of  academic  life,  there  came  sud- 
denly into  his  mind  an  echo  of  the  words  his 
father  had  uttered  as  he  lay  dying  :  "  Fight, 


98        THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

fight  Bevanne  .  .  .  look  out  for  the  young 
one  then  .  .  .  young  rattlesnakes  are  as 
poisonous  as  old  ones."  The  memory  of  John 
Warren's  expression  as  he  had  spoken  these 
words  fell  like  a  shadow  on  the  peaceful  pic- 
ture of  sunlight  shining  on  women's  faces 
and  on  children's  curls,  and  a  sense  of  more 
vivid  curiosity  than  he  had  ever  before  felt 
concerning  the  long  mystery  that  had  clung 
to  the  relationship  of  his  family  with  the 
Bevannes  swept  over  Paul  Warren :  what 
had  caused  that  look  of  frozen  anger  on  his 
father's  face  when  chance  placed  any  mem- 
ber of  that  family  in  his  way  ?  What  had 
he  to  do  with  vendetta  directed  against  this 
smiling,  harmless  enemy,  whose  eager  friend- 
liness seemed  to  have  back  of  it  the  same 
puzzled  feeling  that  he  had  himself?  The 
moment  wrapped  him  round  in  a  sort  of  hu- 
morous sadness*;  after  all,  you  were  bidden 
to  love  your  enemy,  as  well  as  to  obey  your 
parents,  and  perhaps  the  former  command 
was  the  more  cogent  of  the  two. 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE      99 

His  state  of  mind  was  certainly  pacific, 
when,  following  the  glance  of  Alec  Be- 
vanne's  eyes,  a  flash  of  illumination  came, 
and  he  fancied  that  he  understood  the  sud- 
den cordiality.  It  was  not  for  the  sake  of 
the  old  days  when  the  two  had  been  play- 
mates that  the  young  man  had  stopped  to 
speak  with  him,  —  it  was  because  of  this 
Southern  girl  who  was  talking  with  his 
mother,  and  whose  soft  black  gown  and 
drooping  black  hat  were  worn  with  such  un- 
wonted grace.  Paul  Warren  involuntarily 
turned  away,  refusing  the  unspoken  request, 
then  paused  in  amusement  at  his  own  action 
and  the  touch  of  irritation  that  had  led  to 
it.  Understanding  his  neighbor  perfectly  at 
that  moment,  he  was  aware  that  he  failed 
to  understand  himself  and  his  assumption  of 
protective  rights. 

"  Won't  you  stop  to  see  my  sister  Alice  ?  " 
asked  Bevanne,  whose  quick  eyes  had  divined 
the  other's  action,  but  still  beamed  friendli- 
ness ;  there  was  never  in  them  reproach  for 


any  one.   "  You  remember  her  ?  She  used  to 
cry  because  she  could  not  play  baseball  with 


us." 


Paul  lifted  his  eyes  and  saw  her.  She  had 
grown  from  a  slender  child  into  a  slender 
woman  :  her  pale  yellow  hair  had  not  dark- 
ened by  a  shade,  but  her  eyes,  which  were  of 
light  hazel  with  extraordinarily  large  pupils, 
had  gained  a  world  of  meaning  and  of  ex- 
pression. As  he  greeted  her  they  were  fixed 
upon  him  with  a  gaze  so  intense  that  they 
made  him  uneasy.  She  had  heard  her  bro- 
ther's remark,  but  she  did  not  speak  nor 
smile,  and  it  was  left  to  Paul  to  face  the  oc- 
casion. Meeting  one  who  mastered  him  in 
silence  was  something  of  a  shock,  and  the  po- 
lite remark  he  had  intended  to  make  slipped 
away. 

"  But  you  used  to  be  the  swiftest  at  tag," 
he  said,  going  back  at  one  bound  over  many 
years. 

Now  a  slow  smile  came  like  color  into  the 
girl's  face,  touching  eyes  and  cheeks  with 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE     101 

added  expression,  where  almost  too  much 
had  been  before. 

"That  never  atoned  for  the  baseball," 
said  Alice  Bevanne. 

Mrs.  Warren  turned  suddenly,  and  her 
pleasure  at  seeing  her  son  talking  with  the 
children  of  the  family  enemy  left  a  flush  upon 
her  face.  It  was  she  who,  after  a  cordial 
greeting,  presented  them  to  the  girl  at  her 
side,  and  she  stood  beaming  over  them  all 
with  an  expression  which  was  the  peace  of 
the  moment  made  visible. 

"  It  is  very  jolly  to  meet  some  one  from 
the  South,  Miss  Wilmot,"  Alec  Bevanne 
was  saying.  "  I  am  a  Southerner  myself 
now." 

"Indeed?" 

"  Do  you  know  Alabama  University  ?  "  he 
asked,  stroking  his  smooth-shaven  chin  with 
a  gesture  which  recalled  the  vanished  pointed 
beard.  "  I  am  there  —  for  the  present." 

It  occurred  to  Paul  Warren  as  he  heard 
this  remark  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of 


102      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

a  man  with  whom  he  should  be  glad  to  differ 
in  matters  of  opinion  and  of  taste,  and  he 
smiled  with  satisfaction  as  Miss  Wilmot  care- 
lessly changed  the  subject,  tacitly  refusing 
to  discuss  the  young  professor's  career. 

One  by  one  the  people  about  them  de- 
parted, white  gown  and  yellow  and  blue 
drifting  past  against  the  background  of  cool 
green  leaf  and  grass ;  Paul  led  his  mother 
to  her  carriage,  while  the  Southern  girl 
waited  for  her  companions  from  the  Inn. 
Together  they  walked  home  through  the 
fragrant,  dust-flecked  air,  the  petals  of  pink 
wild  roses  falling  along  their  path,  and,  over- 
head, the  leaves  of  silver  poplars  trembling 
in  gray-green  against  the  sky. 

The  ladies  of  the  Emerson  Inn  had  adopted 
this  girl  with  no  mental  reserves ;  the  War- 
ren carriage  had  waited  for  her  too  often  at 
the  door  to  leave  any  doubt  of  her  desira- 
bility as  an  acquaintance.  With  not  only 
Respectability  but  Tradition  bending  thus 
obsequiously  over  her,  they  whispered  to 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     103 

one  another  that  her  strange  arrival  was 
mere  accident :  she  had  come  North  to  visit 
Mrs.  Warren,  but  had  been  prevented  by 
Mr.  Warren's  sudden  illness  and  death. 
Moreover,  they  liked  her  :  it  was  as  if  some 
tropical  bird  of  brilliant  plumage  and  vivid 
eyes  had  dropped  down  among  them.  There 
was  always  about  her  an  air  of  expectancy, 
for  she  was  one  to  whom  the  kaleidoscopic 
shifting  of  things  constantly  presented  new 
shades  of  beauty  and  of  significance,  and 
she  ever  kept  an  alert  eye  on  the  flashing, 
changing  stuff  of  life.  Something  of  her 
sense  of  wonder  and  romance  walking  still 
the  paths  of  every  day  began  to  hover  like 
a  rosy  cloud  about  each  gray  head. 

It  was  not  only  the  guests  who  were 
touched  by  it :  every  inhabitant  of  the  Inn, 
from  Mr.  Phipps  to  the  schoolmistress-maid, 
felt  a  touch  of  indefinable  pleasure  in  the 
presence  of  this  girl.  Yet  the  schoolmistress 
sorely  disapproved,  and  was  not  without  a 
secret  share  of  the  hope  cherished  by  the 


104      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

cultured  ladies,  of  leading  this  Southern 
maiden  to  a  higher  life. 

"  I  'm  fond  of  reading,  too,"  ventured  the 
maid,  glancing  one  day  at  the  pile  of  books 
that  had  to  take  refuge  on  the  floor  in  a 
corner  of  Miss  Wilmot's  room,  "  but  I  never 
read  novels.  I  don't  believe  in  wasting  time, 
do  you  ?  " 

She  got  only  a  smile  for  reply,  a  puzzled, 
serious  smile  that  finally  decided  to  be  merry 
and  broke  into  little  quivering  curves  at  the 
corners  of  the  lips ;  and  she  went  away, 
baffled,  with  a  puzzled  face.  It  was  as  if  she 
had  lost  sight  of  something  that  had  just 
passed,  many -colored  and  with  iridescent 
wings. 

With  a  purpose  as  lofty  as  that  of  the 
maid,  the  guests  of  the  Inn  bore  Frances 
Wilmot  away  in  triumph  this  Sunday  after- 
noon, a  maiden  sacrifice,  to  read  poetry  upon 
the  rocks.  They  were  all  in  a  softened  mood, 
and,  before  beginning,  indulged  her  in  a  lit- 
tle random  conversation. 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE      105 

"  How  does  it  happen  that  you  have  never 
before  seen  the  ocean,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  the 
Lady  from  Wilmington. 

"  We  had  a  summer  home  at  Blue  Ridge 
and  went  there  nearly  every  year,"  answered 
the  girl,  her  heart  crying  out  for  the  call  of  the 
gulls  and  the  sweep  of  the  sea  and  silence. 

It  was  the  little  Lady  from  Boston  who 
sat  nearest  her  on  the  rocks,  claiming  a  place 
as  friend  by  virtue  of  her  initial  judgment 
of  the  young  stranger.  "  One  can  always 
tell  a  lady,  I  think,"  was  all  she  had  said  by 
way  of  reproof ;  and  she  had  followed  her 
first  favors  with  kindliness  that  was  both 
simple  and  sweet. 

"  Is  n't  it  charming  at  the  Warren  place  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  Do  you  know  that  it  is  full, 
simply  full,  of  treasures  ?  There  are  silver 
platters  and  punch  bowls  and  beautiful  old 
spoons  hidden  away  in  the  dark  cupboards. 
Do  ask  Mrs.  Warren  to  bring  them  out  for 
you  some  day." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  girl  perversely. 


106      THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

"  Because  you  may  never  have  another 
chance." 

"  But  I  've  seen  that  kind  of  thing  all  my 
life.  I  'm  sorry,  but  I  cannot  care  profoundly 
about  old  punch  bowls." 

"  Mr.  Paul  Warren  looks  more  distant  than 
ever,"  growled  the  Lady  from  Cincinnati. 
"No  man  of  his  age  ought  to  have  that 
brooding  expression,  and  yet  his  face  is  dis- 
tinctly interesting.  He  resembles  some  old 
portrait  that  one  often  sees :  whose  is  it,  — 
Sir  Thomas  More's,  or  "  — 

"  It  is  the  Warren  house  that  he  resem- 
bles," volunteered  Frances  Wilmot  in  the 
pause.  "  He  has  that  look  suggesting  old 
experiences  not  his  own." 

"He  is  very  gifted  and  very  eccentric," 
interposed  the  Lady  from  Boston  hastily, 
lest  something  still  more  foolish  should  be 
said.  "  Nobody  knows  him.  So  much  of  his 
time  has  been  spent  abroad,  and  so  much 
now  is  spent  in  study,  that  I  imagine  he  is 
out  of  touch  with  things." 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     107 

"  Educated  as  a  lawyer,  was  n't  he  ?  " 
asked  the  elderly  lady  who  was  Somebody 
from  Somewhere. 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Frances  Wilmot 
patiently.  She  felt  the  need  of  many  things 
more  keenly  than  the  need  of  conversation 
about  Mr.  Paul  Warren. 

"  Humph  !  "  said  the  lady  who  had  asked 
the  question.  "  It  seems  to  me  I  have  heard 
his  Uncle  Peter  tell  how  he  finished  his  study 
and  began  practicing  in  Boston.  One  day 
he  drove  up  to  the  old  house  here  in  a  sta- 
tion carriage,  with  his  trunks  in  an  express 
wagon  behind  him. 

"  <  Well  ? '  said  old  Mr.  Warren ;  they  are 
such  a  silent  family,  you  know. 

"  'I  've  given  it  up,'  said  Mr.  Paul.  'I  shall 
try  some  profession  where  I  can  be  an  honest 
man.' 

"  The  father  only  chuckled,  without  a 
word,  and  Mr.  Peter  said  that  it  was  probably 
the  longest  discussion  of  motive  that  had 
ever  taken  place  between  them." 


108      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

Here  the  reading  began.  They  had  brought 
with  them  the  most  detestable  of  anthologies, 
—  and  to  the  girl  in  whose  behalf  they  were 
exerting  themselves  all  anthologies  were  de- 
testable, —  and  they  took  turns  in  rendering 
the  verse  contained  therein.  Frances  Wilmot 
profanely  recalled  scenes  of  Indian  torture 
where  a  similar  rotation  was  observed,  for 
false  metres  truly  rendered  and  true  metres 
falsely  rendered  smote  like  blows  upon  her 
sensitive  ear.  They  were  too  tactful  to  ask 
her  to  take  her  turn  :  the  schools  in  the  South 
were  so  poor,  and  she  probably  did  not  read 
very  well !  Neither  at  the  reading  nor  during 
the  discussion  that  followed,  however,  did  her 
inner  misery  break  through  her  fine  courtesy. 
They  were  very  good  to  her,  she  kept  say- 
ing to  herself,  as  she  clung  to  the  rock  with 
appealing  hands. 

"  They  take  life  as  they  take  grape-nuts," 
she  thought,  "  predigested,  and  with  the  sub- 
stance gone.  What  meaning  can  it  have  for 
them  after  it  has  been  so  discussed  ?  Can't 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     109 

they  see  that  beauty  talked  about  disap- 
pears? " 

To-day  the  criticism  languished,  for,  all 
unknown  to  the  ladies  of  the  Emerson  Inn, 
the  intellectuality  of  their  lives  was  slipping 
away  in  the  presence  of  this  girl's  keen  zest 
in  facing  existence.  When  at  last  they  let 
her  go,  they  watched  her,  dreaming,  for  the 
charm  of  her  free  footsteps  had  begun  to 
touch  the  measure  of  their  own,  and  wher- 
ever she  was  there  was  a  sense  as  of  doors 
and  windows  flung  open  to  wide  spaces. 

Upon  a  straggling  woodland  path,  soft  with 
pine  needles  of  unnumbered  years,  she  set 
her  feet  with  a  sense  of  exquisite  relief.  Deli- 
cate leaves  of  birch  and  of  poplar  touched  her 
flushed  cheek  with  green  coolness ;  she  gath- 
ered her  hands  full  of  live  spruce  twigs  and 
crushed  them  passionately.  It  was  hard  for 
one  whose  gift  was  that  of  winning  from 
each  moment  its  utmost  reach  of  joy  or  of 
pain  to  understand  this  sort  of  mental  nib- 
bling at  the  edges  of  things,  yet  she  knew 


110      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

that  the  air  was  sweeter  and  her  path  more 
free  because  of  her  late  bondage,  and,  with 
a  sigh,  she  let  the  great  silence  of  beauty 
infold  her. 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE     111 


VIII 


\_/N  a  broad  shelf  of  rock  in  a  great  fissure 
of  the  cliff  sat  Frances  Wilmot,  her  hands 
clasped  about  her  knees,  swaying  rhythmi- 
cally to  and  fro  with  the  rhythm  of  the  waves 
beneath.  Spray  dashed  on  her  brown  cheek 
and  bare  head,  and  a  little  wind  had  blown 
one  damp  lock  across  her  face.  A  line  of 
deep  tan  showed  on  either  arm  outstretched 
from  the  white  shirt-waist;  there  were  no 
floating  ruffles  about  her  now,  only  a  sturdy 
white  pique*  that  showed  traces  of  recent 
climbing  over  the  rocks.  She  bore  small 
resemblance  to  the  dainty  maiden  who  had 
alighted  at  the  Emerson  Inn  three  weeks 
ago,  and  might  have  been  a  sea-born  thing 
that  had  crawled  for  a  little  space  out  of  the 
limpid  water  and  the  tangled  weeds  of  green 
and  brown  that  grew  below.  She  was  croon- 


112      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

ing  softly  to  herself  as  she  swayed  this  way 
and  that,  for  out  of  her  passionate  love  she 
was  making  a  song  of  the  tide,  and  the  rich 
voice  sank  to  low  murmurs,  then  rose  to 
clear  triumph  as  the  little  ripple  over  the 
rocks  got  into  it,  and  the  joy  of  the  oncom- 
ing wave.  She  listened,  as  she  tried  now 
this  note  and  now  that,  for  the  melody  of 
retreating  water,  and  its  hidden  sound  as  it 
sought  crevice  or  tiny  cavern  that  none  else 
knew,  while  the  memory  of  its  least  echo  on 
the  pebbles  of  the  long  beach  came  back  to 
her,  and  of  its  thunder  in  the  sudden  storm 
of  two  days  ago. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  do  you  !  "  she  said,  shaking 
back  her  spray-moistened  hair ;  "  you  are  so 
free  a  thing,  and  yet  the  great  rhythm  is 
there  in  the  veriest  ripple  that  I  can  hardly 
hear." 

Living  the  life  of  the  water,  she  had  grown 
to  talk  to  the  sea  as  to  a  comrade,  and  on 
far  headland  or  at  the  edge  of  sheer  gray 
cliff  a  mighty  presence  had  seemed  to  meet 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     US 

her,  answering  word  and  cry.  Now  she  was 
silent ;  in  the  silence,  too,  the  answer  came, 
and  the  girl  listened,  with  eyelids  closed,  her 
dark  head  leaning  against  the  rock.  Paul 
Warren,  coming  abruptly  upon  her  retreat, 
stopped,  afraid  to  move  this  way  or  that,  lest 
her  eyes  should  open  ;  and,  as  he  paused, 
irresolute,  he  gazed  with  deepening  wonder. 
That  expression,  worn  by  her  face  and  by 
the  whole  figure  nestling  close  to  the  stone, 
of  being  one  with  sun  and  sea  and  rock, 
smote  home  to  the  heart  of  the  man  who  had 
known  close  kinship  with  naught  save  books. 
More  quick  than  ever  in  his  heart  to-day  were 
those  old  influences,  of  morbid  theory  and  of 
melancholy  life,  which  had  worked  on  the 
mind  of  the  child  with  an  intensity  cruelly 
disproportionate  to  their  real  weight;  and 
wind  and  sea,  bringing  a  keener  sense  of 
aloofness,  brought,  too,  unknown  desire. 
Curiously  impersonal  at  last  in  his  way  of 
taking  things,  he  had  grown  to  stand  apart 
even  from  himself,  —  in  an  attitude  not  of 


114      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

self -absorption,  but  of  self-indifference ;  one's 
own  personality  was  an  object  of  such  small 
interest !  Now  his  whole  being  was  full  of  a 
sudden  yearning  to  find  and  claim  his  world, 
for  the  touch  of  life  had  come  like  the  flick 
of  a  whip  on  the  sensitive  flanks  of  a  rest- 
ive horse.  The  wide  horizon  line  and  the 
look  on  Frances  Wilmot's  face  brought  home 
to  him  a  deepened  feeling  of  his  isolation, 
and  no  sooner  was  he  aware  of  it  than  she 
opened  her  eyes,  causing  an  expression  of 
genuine  annoyance  in  his.  Was  it  because 
he  was  disturbing  her  or  because  she  was 
disturbing  him,  she  wondered,  as  she  gave 
him  greeting. 

"  You  really  ought  not  to  appear  unan- 
nounced," she  said  saucily,  unawed  by  the 
half-frown  on  his  face.  "  Polite  ghosts  rap. 
Don't  you  realize  that  the  sudden  materiali- 
zation of  spirits  is  trying  for  mortal  nerves  ?  " 

He  smiled  back,  quickly  touched  by  her 
mood. 

"  May  the  ghost  sit  down  for  a  minute, 


long  enough  to  beg  your  pardon,  —  that  is, 
if  it  is  permitted  to  him  to  speak  ?  " 

"  They  never  wait  for  permission.  It  is 
their  own  caprice,  and  not  that  of  the  living, 
that  governs  them." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Paul  Warren,  settling 
himself  comfortably, "  I  feel  justified  in  stay- 
ing, even  at  the  risk  of  disturbing  the  mer- 
maid in  her  cave." 

"  I  'm  not  a  mermaid,"  said  the  girl,  her 
lip  curling  imperceptibly. 

"  And  I  'm  not  a  ghost.  But  if  you  set  the 
fashion  of  calling  names,  you  must  expect 
people  to  follow." 

"  There  's  a  difference  between  calling 
names  and  giving  names,"  she  retorted,  look- 
ing at  him  through  merry,  half-shut  eyes. 
"  And  you  really  are  a  ghost,  you  know,  only 
you  don't  half  understand  your  properties. 
You  ought  to  appear  in  diaphanous  white, 
made  in  the  fashion  of  a  trailing  robe  or  toga, 
and  you  ought  to  wear  a  dim  electric  light 
shining  somewhere  in  your  hair.  I  will  ad- 


116      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

mit,  however,  that  you  have  chosen  a  day 
quite  in  keeping  with  the  spirit  world." 

It  was  one  of  the  times  of  veiled  beauty, 
when  pine  and  juniper  and  sweet-fern  on  the 
cliff  above  wore  a  deeper  and  more  blended 
green  because  of  the  absent  sunlight,  and 
the  gray-brown  rocks  with  their  crumbling 
lichens  took  on  a  lovelier  tone.  The  low, 
soft  clouds  that  floated  overhead  shaded  from 
purple  to  pale  silvery  gray  which  matched  the 
under  side  of  the  wings  of  the  gulls,  and  the 
water  gave  back  the  color  hue  for  hue,  out 
and  farther  out  where  even  the  horizon  line 
vanished  in  the  mystery  of  infinite  distance. 
It  was  late  afternoon ;  cliff  swallows,  with 
deep  purple  wings  and  breasts  that  hinted 
the  dim  red  of  the  rocks,  were  circling  near ; 
and  the  air  was  soft  and  sweet  as  the  caresses 
of  dear,  dead  hands. 

"  Ghost,"  said  Frances  Wilmot,  turning 
suddenly  to  check  the  mist  that  came  un- 
bidden to  her  eyes,  "I  see  a  book  in  your 
pocket.  There  is  a  spiritualist  lady  at  the 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     117 

Inn  who  would  be  delighted  to  find  out  what 
you  read  in  the  place  you  come  from.  Per- 
haps she  could  make  little  paragraphs  for  the 
papers  :  '  Books  most  in  demand  during  the 
last  week  in  the  Spirit  World  ! ' " 

Paul  Warren  drew  the  volume  from  its 
hiding-place. 

"  I  was  merely  investigating ;  it  does  not 
represent  my  taste." 

"  Nietsche  !  "  cried  the  girl.  "  Now  I  know 
why  you  have  avoided  me  so  carefully  :  you 
were  afraid  I  would  talk  to  you  about  Niet- 
sche. I  assure  you  I  won't ;  I  have  n't  read 
him." 

"  You  must  be  a  rather  unusual  woman  if 
that  would  prevent  you  from  discussing  him ! 
Besides,  I  have  n't  avoided  you." 

"  Mr.  Paul  Hollis  Warren,"  said  the  girl 
quickly, "  is  n't  your  great-great-great-grand- 
father Warren  about  to  enter  into  you  and 
tell  a  fib  ? " 

It  was  impossible  not  to  give  back  her 
laughter,  note  for  note. 


118      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

"  Perhaps,"  he  admitted,  "  but  I  had  not 
met  you." 

"  That 's  something  of  a  bull,  is  n't  it,  — 
you  could  not  meet  me  because  you  had  not 
met  me  ?  But  to  come  back  to  Learned  Wo- 
men :  what  do  you  suppose  my  comrades  at 
the  Inn  asked  me  last  night  ?  " 

"  Being  a  mere  man,  I  have  not  the  wit 
to  suggest." 

"  What  arguments  for  the  immortality  of 
the  soul  I  thought  most  convincing  !  " 

"  And  you  told  them  " 

"  I  told  them,"  she  said,  with  a  dimple, 
"  to  remember  that  the  schools  in  the  South 
are  very  poor;  it  is  something  they  often 
say  to  excuse  my  shortcomings.  Then  the 
Lady  from  Wilmington  said  that  it  was  a 
most  important  question,  to  which  I  should 
give  deep  thought." 

"How  did  you  escape?" 

"I  said,"  she  answered  slowly,  "that, 
whatever  it  is,  it  isn't  a  question,  and  that 
any  immortality  of  the  soul  worth  having  is 


beyond  the  reach  of  argument,  for  to  say 
that  you  believe  is  to  express  a  doubt. 
Surely  it  is  present,  insistent,  throbbing  in 
every  nerve!  The  Lady  from  Wilmington 
was  deeply  shocked." 

"  Did  anything  happen  ?  " 

The  girl  answered  by  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"  In  the  words  of  old  romance :  '  She 
shaped  herself,  horse  and  man,  by  enchant- 
ment into  a  great  marble  stone.'  Then  she 
was  attacked  by  the  Lady  from  Cincinnati, 
who  is  scientific,  and  a  positivist.  She  re- 
marked, between  two  bits  of  a  roll,  that  our 
knowledge  is  strictly  limited  to  the  world 
that  we  see ;  that  metaphysical  assertions 
are  therefore  impossible,  and  then  said  loudly 
that  there  is  no  immortality  of  the  soul.  I 
am  telling  you  all  this  because  I  don't  know 
whether  it  is  the  Summer  Girl  or  the  Learned 
Woman  that  you  are  afraid  of  in  me,  and 
I  am  trying  to  find  a  golden  mean  between 
the  two,  being  neither." 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be  useless  to  assure 


120      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

you  that  I  am  not  afraid  of  you  in  any  as- 
pect ;  I  trust  that  I  have  the  courage  of  an 
ordinary  man.  I  am  very  much  interested 
in  what  you  are  saying  ;  please  go  on." 

"  There,  was  n't  any  more,"  said  Frances, 
"  for  I  insisted  that  her  last  remark  was  a 
metaphysical  assertion,  and  that  she  ought 
not  to  make  it,  therefore  she  said  that  my 
logic  would  improve  as  I  grew  older." 

Paul  Warren  looked  at  the  girl  curiously  : 
it  was  hard  to  tell  whether  she  was  merry  or 
sad,  in  jest  or  in  earnest.  The  serious  glance 
of  his  eyes  brought  mirth  quickly  to  the  sur- 
face in  hers. 

"  Ghost,"  she  said  suddenly,  "  do  you 
know  that  the  water  is  all  purple-gray,  chan- 
ging every  minute  with  a  beauty  that  takes 
the  heart  out  of  you  ?  " 

He  looked  at  it  critically. 

"  No,"  he  admitted ;  « I  did  not." 

"And  the  heart  of  it  all  is  the  change, 
change,  change ;  can't  you  hear  the  mo- 
ments go  by  with  swiftly  tripping  feet  ?  It 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     121 

is  the  feeling  it  come  and  go  that  makes  the 
beauty ;  you  will  never  find  through  all 
eternity  just  the  same  shade  of  color,  what- 
ever more  exquisite  tint  may  come." 

"  You  are  a  poet,"  he  said  deliberately. 
"  Why  are  n't  you  writing  poetry  ?  " 

She  spread  her  brown  hands  out  to  the 
spray. 

"  Why  spoil  it  by  writing  it  ?  I  want  to 
feel  it  in  my  finger  tips,  and  hear  it  in  my 
ears,  with  no  printed  pages  between.  Do  you 
know  that  the  waves  make  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent music  on  the  rocks  and  in  all  the  clefts 
and  crannies  on  a  shaded  day  like  this,  from 
that  which  they  make  when  the  sun  is  shin- 
ing?" 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  he  answered,  smiling 
skeptically. 

She  looked  at  him  with  laughing  eyes. 

"  You  are  just  a  mind,  very  thinly  em- 
bodied, are  n't  you  ?  You  would  n't  care  if 
the  sky  were  colorless  and  the  sea  dumb. 
You  oughtn't  to  be  troubled  with  carrying 


122       THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

about  the  weight  of  a  body,  for  you  don't 
need  even  wings." 

"  I  thought  you  were  only  a  girl,"  he  re- 
marked irrelevantly. 

"  I  'm  not !  "  said  Frances.  "  '  I  'm  a  wo- 
man growed,'  if  you  please,  sir!  But  do  you 
mind  telling  me  what  it  is  like  in  the  realm 
of  pure  thought  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  will  tell  me  what  it  is  like 
under  the  sea,"  he  retorted. 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  girl,  "  I  could  n't  tell  you 
all,  for  part  of  it  is  a  mystery.  But  it  is  cool 
and  clear  and  green,  and  the  bed  of  it  is  dim 
with  gold  and  red  with  coral,  and  rich  colors 
running  all  through  the  scale  are  there, 
browns  that  shade  into  purples,  and  blues 
that  fade  into  greens,  and  some  of  the 
growths  are  live  creatures,  and  some  don't 
know  whether  they  are  living  things  or 
not,"  -  here  she  glanced  wickedly  at  him 
and  tilted  her  chin  a  wee  bit  in  the  air,  — 
"  and  "  — 

"  And  ?  "  for  she  had  paused. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE      123 

"  You  sit  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  you  bathe 
in  the  color  that  is  like  living  light.  You  sit 
way,  way  down  at  the  centre  of  the  deep, 
and  you  know  the  heart  of  the  great  tides, 
and  the  way  they  come  and  the  way  they  go, 
and  the  reason  of  it  all,  but  you  never  tell." 

"  Don't  stop,"  he  begged. 

"  You  shall  have  no  more  of  it,"  she  an- 
swered, "  until  you  can  see  the  color  and 
hear  the  waves.  Now  tell  me  how  they  made 
you  a  ghost ;  I  want  to  know  the  training  in 
the  Spirit  Land." 

"  It  goes  way,  way  back,"  he  said  lightly. 
"  First  you  have  some  ancestors  who  think 
much  about  theology  "  — 

"  And  one  who  is  bad,"  suggested  Frances. 

"  One  who  is  very  bad,  and  many  who  are 
reckless,  and  in  the  course  of  time  the  race 
gets  rather  confused  in  its  mind,  the  sinners 
beginning  to  brood  too  much  over  their 
sins"  — 

"  And  about  saving  their  own  souls,"  in- 
terrupted the  girl. 


124       THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

"  Precisely.  They  read  a  great  deal  and 
they  meditate  a  great  deal,  and  then,  pos- 
sibly because  they  have  found  life  too  much 
for  them,  they  hand  it  on,  till  at  last  it 
comes  to  a  youngster  made  out  of  all  the 
odds  and  ends,  of  broken  faiths  and  shattered 
ideals.  He  has  a  fairly  active  mind,  and, 
brought  up  in  the  shadow  of  the  past,  he  sets 
to  work  to  try  to  think  things  out.  You  see, 
as  he  grows  up,  he  feels  that  the  powers  that 
be  have  tossed  him  a  pretty  hard  nut  to 
crack  when  they  tossed  him  this  world  " 

"  And  a  boy  who  would  never  have 
dreamed  of  trying  to  crack  a  nut  by  think- 
ing about  it,  but  would  have  gone  at  it  with 
nerve  and  muscle,  is  foolish  enough  to  be- 
lieve that  he  can  think  out  this  world  !  "  cried 
the  girl  willfully.  "  And  yet  it  was  n't  his 
fault.  They  had  taught  him  theories  and 
theologies,  and  so  he  turned  out  to  be  "  — 

"  A  ghost  ?  "  said  Paul  Warren,  laughing. 
It  was  the  first  foolish  conversation  he  had 
ever  had  in  his  life,  and  he  was  enjoying  it 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     125 

"A  philosopher,"  said  the  girl  severely. 

"  You  don't  object  to  a  man's  using  what 
mind  he  has  ?  "  he  queried  meekly. 

"  It  should  be  kept  in  its  place,  being  a 
good  servant,  but  a  bad  master." 

"  Who  taught  you  all  this  ?  Siren  or  mer- 
maid you  must  be,  for  no  mortal  maiden  of 
your  years  could  have  this  depth  of  know- 
ledge. It  is  a  combination  of  the  wisdom  of 
four  years  and  of  fourscore." 

"  A  father  and  a  mother,"  said  the  girl, 
with  a  sudden  shining  in  her  eyes,  "who 
had  lived  and  who  knew.  The  wisdom  and 
the  beauty  of  things  I  felt  when  I  was  a 
little  child  at  their  knees,  and  it  was  impos- 
sible, as  I  grew  older,  not  to  understand." 

The  purple-winged  swallows  flew  nearer, 
unafraid,  for  the  voices  had  ceased,  and  the 
two  people  in  the  cleft  in  the  rock  were  sud- 
denly aware  that  their  jesting  conversation 
had  led  them  into  the  depths ;  and,  with  the 
feeling  once  more  that  they  were  strangers, 
there  was  on  the  part  of  both  a  desire  to  es- 


126      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

cape.  Water  and  gentle  air  and  cloud  floated 
softly  about  them,  encompassing  them  with 
rest.  Paul  Warren  took  his  leave,  stiffly 
enough.  He  was  half  angry  with  himself  for 
the  way  in  which  he  had  been  talking  with 
a  woman,  having  never  before  ventured  so 
far  from  under  the  protecting  shell  of  his 
reserve ;  and  he  was  filled  with  wonder  at 
this  girl's  poignant  sense  of  things  of  which 
in  his  nine  and  twenty  years  he  had  been 
but  dimly  aware.  Her  eager  grasp  on  all 
that  touched  her  life  stung  him  with  sudden 
conviction  of  the  futility  of  his  careless  way 
of  letting  go. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     127 


IX 


JL  AUL,"  asked  Uncle  Peter  sharply,  strolling 
down  the  piazza  steps  with  a  cigar  between  his 
teeth, "  what  is  the  lawn  being  clipped  for  ?  " 

Lifting  his  eyes  from  his  book,  the  young 
man  looked  with  a  certain  satisfaction  down 
the  broad  slope  which  was  being  converted 
into  something  halfway  between  a  stubble 
field  and  velvet  turf. 

"  I  thought  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to 
get  it  into  the  shape  it  had  when  grand- 
father was  alive.  We  have  been  a  bit  care- 
less lately." 

Uncle  Peter  clapped  his  hands  together  in 
delight.  He  was  in  high  spirits  this  morn- 
ing, and  evidently  in  possession,  according 
to  his  own  theories,  of  the  jolliest  soul 
among  his  forefathers. 

"  I  told  you  so  !  I  told  you  so  !  Ancestral 


128      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

traits  coming  out  as  plain  as  daylight !  You 
laugh  at  my  ideas,  yet  here  you  are  a  living 
proof  of  them.  So  your  grandfather  Warren 
is  uppermost  in  you  to-day !  /  am  having  a 
touch  myself  of  Peter  Finch  ;  he  was  a  great 
joker,  you  know.  Wonderful,  wonderful  that 
you  can't  escape  from  your  grandfather, 
however  hard  you  try." 

Here  Uncle  Peter  turned  and  saw  old  An- 
drew Lane  standing  near  with  a  rake  in  his 
hand,  and  listening  with  an  amused  grin  on 
his  wrinkled  old  face.  He  nodded,  but  did 
not  touch  his  battered  straw  hat,  and  a  flush 
crept  over  Uncle  Peter's  cheeks ;  this  man 
was  always  rude  to  him. 

"  Take  off  your  hat  to  your  betters,  An- 
drew," he  said,  not  without  condescension. 
The  grin  spread  farther,  and,  writh  open 
mouth,  the  old  man  laughed  silently. 

"  So  I  do,"  he  answered,  advancing  to- 
ward Paul  and  touching  his  hat  brim.  "  The 's 
a  man  here  from  Porchmouth  says  you 
wanted  him." 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     129 

"  Bring  him  here,"  said  the  young  pro- 
prietor. "  It  is  a  gardener  who  I  thought 
could  give  us  some  suggestions  about  touch- 
ing up  the  old  place." 

Uncle  Peter  stood  near  and  listened  to 
the  dialogue  that  followed,  a  cloud  gather- 
ing on  his  brow. 

"  I  do  not  want  things  much  changed," 
explained  Paul  to  the  Portsmouth  man.  "  I 
wish  to  keep  it  in  all  essentials  as  it  was 
in  my  father's  day,  but  it  could  be  made  a 
little  trimmer." 

"  Yes,  sir,  yes,"  assented  the  man,  han- 
dling his  pruning  shears. 

"  It  ought  to  look  more  as  if  it  were  in- 
habited by  the  living  as  well  as  by  the  dead," 
thought  Paul. 

When  the  gardener  had  gone,  Uncle  Peter 
took  up  again  the  thread  of  conversation 
which  he  had  reluctantly  dropped. 

"  Oh,  you  want  to  go  on  reading,  do  you  ? 
It's  always  books,"  he  muttered.  "Who- 
ever you  get  that  taste  from,  it  is  n't  from 


ISO      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

me ;  must  be  somebody  on  your  mother's 
side ;  though,  to  be  sure,  your  father  had 
it  I,  for  my  part,  don't  believe  that  great 
readers  think  as  much  as  people  who  use 
their  wits  in  observation.  To  a  man  who  is 
capable  of  carrying  on  a  sustained  train  of 
thought,  everything  in  the  natural  world 
contributes  something  to  his  idea.  Now  to 
me  the  very  birds  on  the  trees,  and  Belinda 
when  she  scrubs,  and  the  butterflies  and 
the  grasshoppers  teach  something  of  hered- 
ity." 

Here  he  trotted  away,  but  presently  was 
back  again,  his  early  mood  of  cheerfulness 
changed  to  deep  gloom,  and  he  inquired  sus- 
piciously how  much  was  to  be  paid  a  day  to 
this  new  gardener,  and  how  much  to  the 
mason  whom  he  had  found  mending  the  wall. 

"  It 's  absurd,  Paul,"  he  burst  out  sud- 
denly, "that  the  management  of  my  pro- 
perty should  have  gone  to  you.  Why,  I  can 
remember  when  you  wore  dresses  and  had  a 
curl  on  the  top  of  your  head." 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     131 

"It  was  father's  wish,"  answered  Paul 
briefly. 

"  He  was  foolish,  as  foolish  as  his  father 
and  mine  before  him,"  answered  Uncle  Peter, 
irritably  tapping  the  piazza  step  with  his 
cane.  "  Why  was  the  bulk  of  the  property 
left  to  John,  anyway,  when  I  was  the  oldest 
son,  and  only  an  allowance  to  me  ?  Why 
was  your  father  to  manage  even  that  ?  "  and 
the  old  man  glared  at  his  nephew. 

"  Don't  you  remember  that  grandfather 
had  English  ideas,  and  wanted  the  estate 
to  be  inherited  by  one  son  ?  I  presume  he 
thought  you  did  not  want  to  be  bothered 
with  it  at  all,"  answered  Paul  gently.  He 
was  sorry  for  the  old  man,  and  the  fre- 
quent efforts  that  had  to  be  made  to  explain 
to  him  that  which  never  could  be  explained 
were  hard  for  both  of  them. 

"  Bothered ! "  shrieked  Uncle  Peter. 
"  Bothered  with  a  little  money  of  my  own !  " 
and  he  sank  down  into  a  chair,  rocking  furi- 
ously to  and  fro. 


It  was  with  a  cunning  expression  that 
he  inquired  carelessly  after  a  minute's  si- 
lence :  — 

"  Where  do  you  get  the  money  for  all 
these  improvements,  my  boy  ?  " 

"It  doesn't  take  much,"  was  the  answer; 
"  there  is  really  very  little  being  done. 
There  happens  to  be  quite  a  surplus  in  the 
bank  just  now." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Uncle  Peter  in  a  tone  that 
spoke  volumes. 

"  You  need  n't  be  alarmed,"  said  Paul 
good-naturedly.  "  I  am  not  using  yours. 
You  get  your  allowance  regularly,  don't 
you?" 

"I  do,  as  yet,"  answered  the  old  man 
ironically.  "  I  wonder  if  you  know  that  there 
is  a  trace  of  swindling  in  the  blood?  Now 
your  great  -  great  -  great  -  grandfather  War- 
ren"— 

"  Oh,  confusion  seize  my  great  -  great- 
great-grandfather  Warren  !  "  cried  Paul,  too 
amused  to  be  irritated,  and  too  irritated  to 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     133 

be  entirely  amused.  "  If  there  has  ever  been 
anything  but  over-scrupulous  honesty  in  the 
family,  nobody  but  you  knows  anything 
about  it.  Go  to  your  banker  and  make  in- 
quiries, if  you  think  that  I  am  wronging 
you." 

"I  meant  nothing,  nothing  at  all,"  said 
Uncle  Peter,  disappearing  in  the  direction  of 
the  dining-room  and  the  sideboard.  "  I  only 
think  it  is  well  to  be  constantly  on  the  alert 
against  temptation.  Yes,  yes,  my  allowance 
came  as  usual  this  morning." 

He  soon  came  back  to  his  nephew,  evi- 
dently in  better  humor. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  he  said  gravely, 
"  when  I  went  in  there  just  now  it  was  as 
if  a  hand,  my  great-great-grandfather  War- 
ren's hand,  were  pushing  me  toward  the  side- 
board." 

"  Perhaps  I  'd  better  keep  it  locked,"  sug- 
gested Paul.  "  What  do  you  say,  uncle  ?  " 

"No,  no,  no,"  answered  the  old  man 
quickly.  "  I  might  come  some  time  and  find 


134 


it  shut,  and  who  can  tell  what  spirit  would 
enter  in  to  rend  and  tear  ?  You  cannot 
trifle,  Paul,  you  cannot  trifle  with  the  dead ; " 
and  with  this  solemn  warning  the  conversa- 
tion was  over. 

It  touched  Paul  to  see  his  mother's  plea- 
sure in  the  beauty  that  was  coming  back  to 
the  old  home.  That  slope  of  the  lawn  with 
its  great  elms  looked  like  Washington,  she 
said  one  day,  now  that  it  was  so  smooth ; 
only,  the  far  street  beyond  was  but  a  country 
road  and  lacked  the  gay  life  of  the  city.  Paul 
said  little,  but  listened  with  a  certain  re- 
morse :  why  had  they  not  done  this  before, 
his  father  and  he,  who  had  jogged  on  so 
comfortably  with  their  own  thoughts,  for- 
getful of  a  woman's  needs  ?  With  a  gratified 
sense 'that  he  was  busy  with  his  father's  task, 
the  young  man  went  about  his  work,  judg- 
ing, and  rightly,  that  John  Warren  would 
have  been  glad  to  see  these  changes  that  he 
had  neglected  to  make.  Paul  sent  to  Wash- 
ington to  inquire  what  was  the  best  time  of 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE     135 

the  year  to  transplant  magnolia  trees,  order- 
ing some  to  be  sent  when  the  proper  season 
came.  Did  his  mother  know,  he  asked,  the 
place  by  Morningkill  Brook  where  dogwood 
blossomed  in  the  spring?  He  coaxed  her 
to  walk  with  him  there,  that  she  might  find 
the  spot  and  be  ready  when  the  flowers  came 
again  with  their  suggestion  of  the  South.  A 
faint  little  ripple  of  belated  happiness  came 
into  Mrs.  Warren's  heart  in  those  days,  as 
her  son  began  slowly  to  understand. 

For  Mrs.  Warren's  new  mood  the  Vir- 
ginia girl  was  partly  responsible ;  she  was 
much  with  the  elder  lady,  coming  often  for 
a  luncheon  or  a  drive.  Her  scrupulous  ad- 
herence to  the  compact  she  had  made  with 
Paul  Warren  amused  him  as  much  as  it 
mystified  his  mother.  Unless  directly  ad- 
dressed, she  did  not  speak  to  him,  and,  when 
listening,  wore  the  air  of  one  hearkening  to 
a  voice  that  came  from  far  away. 

"Did  some  one  speak?"  she  asked,  with 
wickedly  twinkling  eyes,  on  one  occasion 


136      THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

when  Paul  had  made  what  seemed  to  his 
mother  a  particularly  impressive  remark. 
How  could  it  be  that  they  disliked  each  other 
so.  much,  even  to  the  verge  of  rudeness, 
Mrs.  Warren  asked  herself,  when  Paul  was 
Paul  and  this  girl  was  so  charming  ? 

"  Tell  me  something  about  Miss  Bevanne," 
said  Frances  Wilmot  one  day  at  luncheon, 
when  a  sudden  feeling  that  her  silence  was 
not  fair  to  the  people  who  did  not  under- 
stand the  cause  made  her  speak  to  her  host. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  her,"  he  answered, 
"  except  that  she  used  to  be  a  little  girl  "  — 

"  Strange,"  murmured  the  guest. 

"  With  two  long  braids  of  pale  hair,  and 
no  color  in  her  face  except  in  her  eyes." 

"Not  color,"  corrected  Frances  Wilmot. 
"  Her  eyes  have  no  color ;  it  is  only  light. 
She  looks  as  if  she  had  some  inner  source 
of  illumination." 

Then  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  gazing 
at  Paul  as  if  she  did  not  see  him,  but  as 
if  she  were  looking  through  a  mist  at  the 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE      137 

paneled  door  behind.  This  expression  of  in- 
terested amusement  that  he  was  wearing 
always  irritated  her. 

An  eager  flush  came  into  Mrs.  Warren's 
face  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  hope  you  may  meet  Miss  Bevanne 
some  time  here.  The  other  day  at  church  I 
invited  her  to  come  with  her  brother.  They 
never  were  here  as  children,  because  of  some 
old  trouble,  which  I  should  like  to  have  for- 
gotten." 

As  chance  would  have  it,  they  came  that 
afternoon,  when  Mrs.  Warren,  worn  out  by 
a  headache,  was  asleep,  and  Frances  Wilmot, 
now  thoroughly  at  home  in  the  old  house, 
was  reading  in  a  hammock  on  the  piazza. 
Paul  had  gone  to  meet  an  engagement  in 
the  city,  and  it  was  left  to  Uncle  Peter  to 
do  the  honors  for  the  family.  He  performed 
his  task  with  a  stateliness  and  a  garrulity 
most  amusing  to  the  guests,  whom  he- enter- 
tained by  displaying  the  old  pre-revolution- 
ary  Warren  house,  still  standing  behind  a 


138      THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

clump  of  spruces  not  far  away.  Finding  in- 
terested listeners,  he  began  to  harp  upon  his 
pet  theories,  and  to  Miss  Wilmot  in  particu- 
lar, whom  he  had  never  had  so  much  at  his 
disposal  as  to-day,  he  poured  out  his  inter- 
pretations of  the  family  history,  while  Mr. 
Bevanne  and  his  sister  were  still  lingering 
in  the  old  kitchen.  That  was  an  intelligent 
and  charming  girl,  Uncle  Peter  thought  to 
himself,  as  she  sat  listening  to  him  on  the 
old  settle  by  the  huge  brick  fireplace  in  the 
parlor,  vainly  wishing  that  fate  had  let  her 
talk  with  Alice  Bevanne.  He  told  her  of  his 
great-grandmother  Anne,  with  her  love  of 
beautiful  things,  and  of  great-great-grand- 
father Warren,  whose  sins  lived  on  in  the 
family  like  suppressed  volcanic  fire. 

"  It  all  goes  on  quietly  in  the  main,  Miss 
Wilmot,"  he  said  earnestly.  "It's  a  good 
family,  and  all  that,  but  there  is  something 
hot  down  under,  and  you  can  never  tell  when 
it  is  going  to  flame  out.  Grass  green  over 
the  lava,  you  know,  and  then  one  day,  hiss, 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     139 

comes  the  eruption  !  Now  these  tendencies 
burst  out  when  you  least  expect  them :  cer- 
tain of  them  I  confess  to  having  myself,  and 
certain  others  I  clearly  discern  in  Paul." 

The  girl  smiled :  it  would  be  a  delight, 
she  thought,  to  see  any  kind  of  volcanic 
eruption  that  could  break  up  the  imperturb- 
able self-possession  and  the  reserve  of  Mr. 
Paul  Hollis  Warren.  To  Uncle  Peter  the 
smile  meant  encouragement,  and  he  left  his 
rocking-chair,  coming  over  to  sit  at  the 
girl's  side  that  he  might  talk  more  freely ; 
but  the  nearer  he  came  the  louder  he  spoke. 
His  philosophy  was  in  a  specially  gloomy 
state  to-day,  partly  because  his  suspicion 
that  Paul  was  about  to  wrong  him  in  money 
matters  was  becoming  a  fixed  idea  in  his 
mind,  partly  because  he  was  conscious  of  be- 
ing less  fastidiously  dressed  than  usual,  on 
an  occasion  when  he  naturally  wished  to 
appear  at  his  best.  Frances  watched  him 
with  eyes  in  which  the  look  of  amuse- 
ment was  giving  way  to  one  of  distress. 


140 


How  could  she  let  this  funny  little  old  man 
go  on  saying  things  that  nobody  ought  to 
say  ?  How  could  she  stop  him  ? 

"  Paul 's  a  good  boy  enough,  but  I  am 
beginning  to  have  my  doubts  about  —  Well, 
there  is  no  use  in  talking ;  ladies  are  n't 
usually  interested  in  business  matters.  He 
used  to  have  the  Warren  temper :  I  remem- 
ber seeing  him  as  a  child  of  fourteen  months 
try  to  beat  his  brains  out  on  the  floor  be- 
cause he  could  not  get  what  he  wanted. 
There  have  been  few  indications  of  that 
lately,  but  he  has  the  seeds  of  melancholia, 
as  anybody  can  see.  However,  it  is  a  gifted 
family ;  now  you  did  not  know,  did  you, 
that  we  have  a  poetess  among  our  ancestors  ? 
Ellen  Wilton,  Mary  Ellen  Wilton.  She  wrote 
poems,  hymns ;  in  the  house  I  can  show  you 
her  portrait,  and  her  book,  which  is  bound 
in  red  velvet  with  gilt  clasps.  Such  things 
never  die  out  in  a  family,  you  know,  and  I 
sometimes  think  I  have  a  touch  of  her  in 
me.  I  am  certainly  very  susceptible  to  —  to 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     141 

influences ; "  and  Uncle  Peter  shook  his  with- 
ered little  head  mysteriously,  as  if  willing 
to  say  more  if  asked. 

To  Frances  Wilmot's  great  relief  the  oth- 
ers soon  joined  them,  and  the  family  psy- 
chology was  for  a  time  forgotten  in  discus- 
sion of  interesting  objects.  The  old  spinning 
wheel,  the  old  set  of  musical  glasses,  the 
room  where  the  slaves  used  to  cook  their 
supper,  and  where  the  great  crane  still  hung 
behind  the  grim  fire-dogs,  were  displayed 
by  Uncle  Peter  with  no  less  pride  than  that 
which  he  felt  in  displaying  the  family  faults. 

Paul  Warren  missed  it  all.  Coming  home 
late  in  the  afternoon,  very  tired,  and  driv- 
ing slowly  over  the  grass-grown  road  past 
the  old  house,  he  caught  the  sound  of  Uncle 
Peter's  voice  as  it  came  rippling  out  through 
the  low,  old-fashioned  windows.  , 

"So  I  say  that  Nature  sinned  against 
me,  for  she  gave  me  no  personality  of  my 
own.  She  made  me  merely  an  empty  shell 
to  be  tenanted  by  any  bygone  creature  who 


142      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

chooses  to  inhabit  me.  And  do  you  know,  I 
am  convinced  that  it  is  the  same  with  the 
others.  There 's  my  nephew,  Paul,  for  in- 
stance,—  you  must  pardon  me  if  I  bring 
him  in  often  as  an  illustration,  but  he  is  the 
only  one  I  have  left  to  study  now,  —  I  con- 
tinually observe  the  same  phenomena  taking 
place  in  him." 

Paul  had  stopped  his  horse,  and  he  heard 
the  sound  of  suppressed  laughter  that  fol- 
lowed his  uncle's  words.  Then  came  the 
notes  of  Frances  Wilmot's  beautiful  voice : 
"  But  you  know,  Mr.  Warren,  that  is  all  non- 
sense." The  young  man  grasped  the  whole 
ironic  situation,  and  touching  his  horse 
sharply  with  the  whip,  drove  on,  unobserved 
by  any  eyes  except  those  of  Alice  Bevanne. 
He  caught  their  look,  half  halted,  then  went 
his  way,  being  in  no  mood  to  play  just  then 
the  part  of  host. 

"  She  will  not  tell  them  that  I  am  here," 
he  said  to  himself ;  and  she  did  not. 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Frances  Wilmot,  with 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     143 

a  little  groan  of  relief,  as  Uncle  Peter,  hear- 
ing the  sound  of  wheels,  hurried  away  to 
find  his  nephew,  and  left  his  guests  alone. 

"It's  as  interesting  as  a  play,"  said  Mr. 
Bevanne,  with  a  little  burst  of  smothered 
laughter.  "  You  do  find  the  most  amazing 
absurdities  in  human  nature  up  this  way." 

"  It  was  shameful,"  said  the  Southern  girl 
vehemently.  "  I  feel  as  if  the  family  skele- 
ton had  been  showing  me  the  closet  where 
he  lives." 

As  Mrs.  Warren  entered  the  room,  the 
three  guests  realized  that  the  odd  situation 
in  which  they  had  been  placed  had  acted 
like  a  sudden  flashlight  in  which  they  could 
read  the  expressions  of  one  another's  faces 
with  an  embarrassing  distinctness. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 


X 


W  HAT  did  you  say,  Paul?"  asked  Mrs. 
Warren,  gently  swinging  to  and  fro  in  a 
great  veranda  rocker.  "  You  agree  with  me 
that  it  would  be  better  to  make  up  this  quar- 
rel with  the  Bevannes  ?  Oh,  I  am  so  glad, 
so  glad ! "  and  she  came  over,  seated  herself 
on  the  broad  arm  of  her  son's  chair,  and 
lightly  kissed  his  forehead.  "  Do,  and  for- 
get those  dreadful  words  your  father  said  ; 
it  is  more  Christian  so.  You  are  a  good  boy, 
and  always  were." 

Paul  looked  at  her  with  thoughtful,  non- 
committal eyes ;  truth  to  tell  he  was  a  bit 
ashamed  that  reconciliation  with  the  family 
enemy  cost  him  so  little.  Could  he  identify 
himself  with  nothing,  not  even  a  family  feud  ? 
"  It  can't  be  done !  "  chirped  Uncle  Peter 
from  the  railing.  "  What  gets  into  the  blood 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     11,5 

stays  there,  and  you  will  find  that  the  War- 
ren-Bevanne  quarrel  is  n't  over  yet." 

"  We  can  at  least  make  the  experiment," 
said  Paul  quietly. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  might  not  like  their 
coming  here  the  other  day ;  I  invited  them 
almost  without  thinking,"  said  Mrs.  Warren. 

"  It  was  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference  to 
me,"  responded  the  young  man,  with  a  touch 
of  regret.  "  Would  n't  it  be  well  to  invite 
them  to  luncheon?  Your  friend  Miss  Wil- 
mot  would  probably  find  it  more  pleasant 
with  some  young  people  about.  Of  course 
we  cannot  make  it  gay  for  her  this  summer, 
nor  would  she  want  that." 

Mrs.  Warren  lightly  touched  her  son's 
hair  with  her  hand. 

"  l  Your  friend ' !  "  she  said  reproachfully. 
"  Why  not  yours  ?  Why  don't  you  like  her  ?  " 

"  I  don't  dislike  her,"  said  Paul  magnani- 
mously. "  But  do  not  try  to  make  a  young 
man  out  of  me,  mother ;  I  think  I  must  have 
had  gray  hair  when  I  was  born." 


146      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

"  Why,  you  did  n't  have  a  single  hair, 
Paul,"  she  exclaimed. 

"I  mean  I  had  gray  hair  inside." 

"Sometimes,"  remarked  Uncle  Peter,  tak- 
ing a  cigar  from  his  pocket,  "sometimes, 
Paul,  I  think  you  are  out  of  your  mind. 
You  say  the  strangest  things,  with  the  least 
sense  in  them !  As  for  this  girl,  you  must 
be  blind,  —  but  of  course  you  always  were 
that,  —  or  you  would  see  that  she  is  one  of 
the  loveliest  creatures  that  ever  walked  the 
earth.  I  declare,  I  wish  I  were  thirty  !  " 

"I'm  afraid  that  you  have  made  her  dis- 
like you,  Paul  dear,"  said  his  mother,  her 
hand  upon  his  shoulder.  "  I  notice  that  she 
never  speaks  to  you  if  she  can  help  it." 

"  Then  it  is  my  duty  to  provide  her  with 
companions  whom  she  does  like,"  said  Paul, 
"  and  that  brings  me  back  to  the  Bevannes. 
From  some  remark  she  made  I  imagine  she 
is  very  much  interested  in  Alice  Bevanne." 

"  That  is  odd,"  said  Mrs.  Warren ;  "  but 
the  brother  is  a  very  nice  young  man.  What 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     147 

frank  eyes  he  has,  and  such  an  open  man- 
ner !  It  would  be  sinful,  I  think,  to  keep 
our  old  grudges  there  !  " 

Regarding  the  luncheon  she  hesitated, 
glancing  at  her  gown  of  black,  —  her  fresh 
sense  of  recent  sorrow  causing  her  to  shrink 
from  even  so  simple  a  festivity  as  this ;  yet 
it  was  in  behalf  of  peacemaking,  and  that 
gentle  thought  won  the  day.  Alice  Bevanne 
and  her  brother  were  invited  to  meet  Miss 
Wilmot,  and  a  Southern  fever  came  upon 
Aunt  Belinda  as  she  made  preparations. 

"  Honey,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Warren,  "  kin 
I  make  beaten  biscuit  ?  " 

"  Of  course ! "  said  that  lady,  wondering 
at  the  broad  smile  upon  the  black  face  as 
the  old  darky  fingered  her  lilac  apron. 

"  An'  fried  chicken,  an'  a  Smithfield  ham 
done  wid  champagne  ?  I  jes'  like  ter  show 
these  No'the'n  folks  what  a  rale  supper  is, 
an'  I  know  Miss  Frances  jes'  dyin'  fo'  some 
beaten  biscuit :  I  kin  tell  dat  by  de  looks  of 
her.  All  de  years  I  bin  up  yer  I  ain't  seen 


148      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

no  young  lady  like  dat.  Her  hair  jes'  nach'- 
ally  straight,  ain't  it  ?  " 

If  any  one  was  bored  when  the  feast  of 
reconciliation  came,  that  person  was  not  Un- 
cle Peter.  From  grave  to  gay,  he  ran  the 
whole  gamut  of  his  intellectual  charms,  — 
laughing  merrily  at  his  own  jests,  and  wiping 
his  eyes  over  his  own  pathetic  tales. 

"  You  don't  feel  these  things  as  I  do,  per- 
haps," he  said  to  Frances  Wilmot,  to  whom 
he  devoted  himself.  "  I  am  peculiarly  sensi- 
tive, perhaps  foolishly  so." 

Paul  Warren  overheard  without  the  quiver 
of  a  muscle,  —  after  all,  one  could  not  bully 
fate !  His  mother  mournfully  remarked  that 
he  exchanged  not  more  than  a  dozen  words 
with  Miss  Wilmot ;  but  Aunt  Belinda,  who,  in 
her  woman's  desire  for  further  knowledge, 
and  her  cook's  desire  to  watch  the  apprecia- 
tion of  the  feast  she  had  created,  had  forced 
the  table  maid  to  feign  headache  and  was  wait- 
ing with  a  grace  that  belied  her  bulk,  chuckled 
delightedly  to  herself  as  she  passed  to  and  fro. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     149 

"  Mas'r  Paul,  he  know  every  which  way 
dat  young  lady  lookin',  for  all  he  ain't  sayin' 
nuffin' ;  an'  her  face  change  ebery  time  he 
open  his  mouf  talkin'  ter  somebody  else.  I 
reckon  dey  act  de  way  a  hen  an'  a  snake 
acts,  jes'  like  dey  don't  know  what  to  make 
ob  one  'nudder." 

Aunt  Belinda  had  spoken  truth,  for  now 
and  then,  across  the  sound  of  many  voices, 
the  Southern  girl's  eyes  glanced  toward 
Paul,  and  he  became  aware  that  there  was 
a  shade  of  meaning,  humorous  or  sad,  which 
none  save  he  and  she  understood.  It  was  as 
if  she  were  drawn  against  her  will,  by  some 
doom  of  nature,  to  share  her  appreciations 
with  him,  and  he  found  himself  waiting  for 
those  rare  interpretations  which  escaped  the 
others. 

If  the  quiet  manner  of  Alice  Bevanne 
wearied  Uncle  Peter,  when  he  found  himself 
obliged  to  talk  with  her  for  five  minutes 
after  luncheon,  her  brother  charmed  his  host- 
ess by  a  slightly  exaggerated  attention  to  her 


150      THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

wishes,  which  recalled  to  her  the  young  men 
she  had  known  in  the  days  of  her  youth. 

"  Mr.  Bevanne  has  acquired  the  Southern 
manner,"  she  said  to  her  son  when  the 
guests  were  gone.  "But  the  sister  —  well, 
she  is  a  lady,  but  that  is  all  I  can  say ;  she 
is  singularly  destitute  of  charm." 

Paul  said  nothing;  perhaps  his  mother 
was  right,  yet  the  glance  of  the  girl's  lumi- 
nous eyes,  and  the  depth  of  expression  in 
her  face,  made  him  wonder  if  there  were  not 
something  better  than  charm  in  the  femi- 
nine world.  At  any  rate,  he  found  in  her  a 
refuge  from  her  brother,  whom  he  treated 
with  an  excess  of  courtesy  that  boded  dislike 
on  further  acquaintance.  Searching  for  a 
cause  for  this  desire  to  keep  a  measured  dis- 
tance between  himself  and  Alec  Bevanne, 
he  failed  to  find  it.  To  the  best  of  his  belief 
it  was  not  the  old  enmity,  which  in  all 
earnestness  he  was  trying  to  end  ;  he  could 
detect  no  reason  save  an  instinctive  differ- 
ence in  taste. 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     151 

"  Five  hundred  years  ago,"  Paul  said  to 
himself  as  he  strolled  up  and  down  the  walk 
late  in  the  afternoon,  "  I  suppose  I  should 
have  killed  the  man  simply  and  perhaps  de- 
voutly for  the  sake  of  the  feud,  and  a  hun- 
dred years  ago  I  should  have  fought  a  duel 
with  him,  but  now  I  have  no  impulse  except 
to  be  decently  polite  to  him,  and  to  keep 
out  of  his  way.  No  family  quarrel  ought 
to  be  intrusted  to  a  man  with  a  sense  of 
humor ! " 

Truth  to  tell,  Paul  Warren  was  sore  over 
a  lack  of  grievance.  Alec  Bevanne  had  not, 
as  he  had  expected,  overwhelmed  Miss  Wil- 
mot  with  his  attentions,  but  had  had  the 
good  taste  to  spend  his  engaging  efforts  on 
his  hostess. 

"  I  declare  !  "  said  Paul  to  himself,  stop- 
ping abruptly  in  his  walk,  "  I  believe  I  am 
sorry  that  the  man  is  not  a  cad  ! " 

In  the  summer  days  that  followed,  these 
four  people  were  much  together.  From  the 
gay  life  of  the  few  guests  at  Wahonet,  Fran- 


152      THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

ces  Wilmot  was  cut  off  by  her  sorrow,  as 
the  Bevannes  were  by  their  poverty,  and 
as  Paul  Warren  was  by  his  own  desire.  The 
latter,  from  his  apathy  in  regard  to  human 
beings,  whose  presence  usually  roused  in  him 
a  feeling  of  loneliness  unknown  in  solitude, 
wakened  to  a  certain  interest  in  his  new 
friends. 

One  morning  there  was  a  prolonged  knock 
upon  Mrs.  Warren's  door,  and  when  per- 
mission was  given,  Aunt  Belinda  entered, 
gorgeous  in  yellow  calico,  but  wearing  an 
expression  of  alarm  that  seemed  to  blanch 
still  further  the  whites  of  her  eyes  and  her 
gleaming  teeth  against  their  dusky  back- 
ground. 

"  Mis'  Emily,  whar  's  Mas'r  Paul  gone, 
wid  all  dem  picks  and  spades?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"  Picks  and  spades !  "  repeated  Mrs.  War- 
ren, looking  up  from  her  writing  desk  with 
mild  surprise  upon  her  face. 

"  Yes,  honey,  picks  and  spades,"  repeated 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE      153 

Aunt  Belinda  tragically.  The  voice,  soft  and 
deep,  ran  the  words  together  in  a  long, 
mournful,  cadenced  wail  which  sounded  like 
the  expression  of  an  animal's  grief. 

"  I  never  see  no  sech  goin's  on  sence  I 
came  up  yer.  Mas'r  Paul's  paw  never 
touched  none  of  them  things ;  now  he  bin 
an'  gone  an'  pruned  de  laylock  bushes, 
workin'  jes  like  any  field  han'.  Look  out 
o'  dat  winder  an  see  him  now !  " 

Mrs.  Warren  rose  and  looked  anxiously 
out.  There,  striding  across  the  July  fields 
with  a  quicker  tread  than  that  of  his  old 
solitary  tramps,  was  Paul,  carrying  over  one 
shoulder  a  bundle  of  golf  clubs.  A  happy 
smile  crossed  the  mother's  face. 

"  Why,  Belinda !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  that 's 
not  work !  It  is  golf,  a  game." 

"  A  play  game  ? "  asked  the  colored 
woman  skeptically. 

"A  play  game,  yes,"  answered  Mrs. 
Warren,  laughing  joyously,  "  and  you  must 
be  as  glad  as  I  that  at  last  he  is  getting 


154       THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE 

interested  in  the  things  that  belong  to  his 
years." 

A  broad  smile  illuminated  Aunt  Belinda's 
dark  face. 

"  Co'se  I  'se  glad,"  she  said  heartily,  "  ef 
it's  a  play  game,  sho  'nuff,  but  it  looks 
mighty  like  it  was  common  work  to  me." 

But  as  the  days  went  on,  the  old  colored 
woman  watched  him  with  delight. 

"  Mas'r  Paul  jes'  wakin'  up  to  know  he  's 
alive  !  "  she  muttered  one  day.  "  Jes'  readin', 
thinkin',  what 's  dat  for  a  man  !  " 

It  was  true  that  Paul  Warren  found  an 
unwonted  charm  in  things  hitherto  obnox- 
ious, sharing  an  occasional  drive,  on  which, 
through  all  the  talking  and  the  laughter,  he 
heard  cadences  of  one  voice  sweeter  than 
the  rest;  or  a  long  tramp  over  some  /wind- 
ing road  shaded  from  the  sun  by  drooping 
branches,  where,  between  dark  tree  trunks, 
they  watched  the  sunlit  green  on  the  fields 
beyond.  Whole  occasional  days  were  de- 
voted to  enjoyment;  dust  gathered  on  the 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE      155 

library  table,  and  Robin,  stealing  in  unob- 
served on  his  old  quest,  chewed  up  the  sec- 
ond and  third  heads  of  an  essay  on  Herbert 
Spencer.  When  at  last  he  invited  his  friends 
to  share  with  him  the  one  amusement  of 
his  old  days  of  solitude,  sailing  across  the 
waves  in  his  cherished  Sea  Gull,  it  seemed 
to  his  mother,  as  well  as  to  himself,  that 
the  last  wall  of  his  reserve  was  breaking 
down.  He  awakened  often  in  the  morning 
to  a  wonderful  lightness  of  heart,  which  some- 
times lingered  with  him  through  the  long 
summer  hours,  and  old  troubles  grew  to  be 
at  times  like  half-forgotten  stories  of  child- 
hood, which  it  was  hard  to  recall.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  Paul  Warren  made  a 
truce  with  his  soul. 

Between  him  and  his  mother's  friend,  the 
Southern  girl,  was  an  armed  peace.  Upon 
all  about  him  she  had  laid  her  spell.  Uncle 
Peter  frankly  rendered  her  the  homage  of 
his  withered  heart ;  Mrs.  Warren  was  living 
again  in  her  a  girl's  life,  and  one  happier 


than  her  own  had  ever  been ;  Aunt  Belinda 
still  cherished  with  devotion  the  look  which 
had  greeted  her  beaten  biscuit ;  and  Alec 
Bevanne  wore  his  admiration  as  an  open 
secret  in  his  blue  eyes.  Only  Robin  Hood 
and  Paul  withstood  the  enchantress,  the 
former  with  the  expression  of  accusing  grief 
wherewith  he  repelled  all  humankind,  the 
latter  with  a  rather  strict  observance  of  the 
compact  of  silence,  for  certain  moments  in 
her  presence  had  brought  him  a  sharp  sense 
of  danger,  and  a  more  formal  courtesy  was 
wont  to  mark  his  efforts  to  keep  out  a  foe 
who  might  disturb  the  little  inner  quiet  he 
had  achieved.  Yet  their  surface  intercourse 
in  the  presence  of  others  was  full  of  charm 
for  him,  and  in  minor  matters  he  submitted 
to  her  management  with  a  meekness  which 
no  one  had  ever  before  discovered  in  him. 
It  was  she  who  undertook  his  education  in 
golf. 

"  You  think  too  hard  about  it,"  she  said 
laughingly  one  day.    "Just  go  by  instinct 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE     157 

and  strike.     You    play    too    intellectual   a 
game,  Hamlet !  " 

In  spite  of  his  obedience  in  the  matter  of 
golf-playing,  of  which  he  knew  nothing,  and 
in  the  matter  of  riding,  which  he  understood 
better  than  she,  he  left  Miss  Wilmot  usually 
with  a  puzzled  sense  that  he  was  master  of 
the  situation.  Through  all  the  silences,  a 
sense  of  his  splendid  gift  and  his  strength 
was  strong  upon  her,  perhaps  because  of  the 
enigmatic  eyes  which  watched  and  studied, 
for  the  man's  mind  was  hard  at  work  upon 
this  baffling  personality  which  he  did  not 
comprehend.  It  might  be  because  he  knew 
nothing  of  women  that  she  puzzled  him  so, 
yet  he  half  divined  the  fact  that  no  other 
woman  would  puzzle  him  as  this  one  did. 
A  minute's  conversation  with  her  on  some 
rounded  height  of  the  green  golf  course,  or 
under  flickering  sunlight  and  shadow  at  the 
turning  of  a  woodland  way,  sometimes  came 
as  a  flash  of  light,  revealing  her  sane,  sweet, 
and  strong,  —  one  who  would  face  loneliness 


158      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

and  gayety  and  pleasure  and  hurt  with  the 
same  fearless  eyes,  winning  joy  from  the 
heart  of  pain ;  the  next  minute  she  was  her 
old,  elusive  self  again,  escaping. 

"  I  am  a  problem  to  which  there  is  n't  any 
answer,  Mr.  Warren,"  she  said  one  day, 
quietly  watching  him  as  he  watched  her. 
"  Don't  try  to  think  me  out !  If  you  get 
the  answer  and  put  down  your  analysis  cor- 
rectly under  heads  one,  two,  and  three,  it 
will  not  be  right !  " 

So  gentle,  yet  so  spirited,  so  keen  in 
judgment,  yet  so  quickly  touched  to  sensi- 
tive feeling,  young  in  many  ways,  yet  at 
some  points  older  in  wisdom  than  Mother 
Eve  and  the  serpent  together,  he  said  whim- 
sically to  himself,  —  would  no  one  read  him 
the  riddle  of  this  woman  ? 

Those  rare  moments  of  silent  understand- 
ing came  oftenest  when,  dancing  over  the 
waves  in  the  Sea  Gull,  with  the  spray  in 
their  faces,  the  joy  of  swift  motion  in  the 
girl's  eyes,  the  rhythm  of  her  body,  the 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     159 

sweep  of  her  wind-blown  hair,  thrilled  him 
with  a  new  sense  of  the  meaning  of  the 
words  she  had  spoken  half  in  jest  about  her 
living  at  the  heart  of  the  great  tides. 


160     THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE 


XI 


JLLATLESS,  short-skirted,  with  brave,  swing- 
ing step,  two  girls  were  walking  over  the 
wide  upland  of  the  Wahonet  golf  course, 
clubs  in  hand,  intent  on  the  game.  Ahead, 
the  long  grassy  slopes  were  broken  here  and 
there  by  the  sharp  outlines  of  slim  cedar 
trees,  giving,  in  the  way  the  dull  green  cut 
the  blue,  a  suggestion  of  Italy's  cypresses 
standing  against  a  sky  of  deeper  tone.  Far 
and  near  they  grew,  trooping  in  long  lines 
up  the  side  of  a  hill,  or  standing  by  crum- 
bling stone  fences,  and  they  lent  a  certain 
poignant  charm  to  all  the  landscape.  One 
of  the  least  cedars  of  all  grew  invitingly  near 
a  great  flat  gray  rock,  half  buried  under  run- 
ning blackberry  vines  and  low  fern.  The 
temptation  was  too  much  for  Frances  Wil- 
mot,  and  she  sank  down  on  the  stone  in 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     161 

happy  weariness,  leaning  gratefully  against 
the  little  tree. 

"  Do  you  think  anything  bad  will  happen 
if  we  rest  a  few  minutes  ? "  she  demanded, 
and  by  way  of  answer  Alice  Bevanne  followed 
through  the  fern  tangle  and  sat  down  by 
her  side.  Frances  noted  with  delight  that 
the  girl's  fair  hair  and  faintly  flushed  cheeks 
looked  somewhat  demoralized  by  fresh  air 
and  exercise. 

"  Why  is  it,"  Alice  asked  shyly,  "  that 
you  always  bring  an  atmosphere  of  your  own 
to  everything  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  you  live 
apart  in  a  world  of  wonder  and  mystery, 
where  the  beautiful  things  come  true." 

"  I  live  in  the  same  world  you  live  in," 
said  Frances  Wilmot,  laughing,  and  placing 
on  the  pale  hair  a  poet  wreath  of  green  fern 
leaves ;  but  the  crowned  head  shook  in 
slow  dissent. 

"  You  have  some  enchanted  sense  of 
things,  and  you  would  be  just  like  the  prin- 
cess of  the  fairy  stories  if  " 


162      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

"  If  "  — 

"  You  are  too  wise.  You  look  like  the 
princess,  but  1  am  more  like  her  inside,  for 
I  can  only  feel,  and  you  can  think,  too.  And 
then  you  change  too  much  for  the  prin- 
cess, for  she  always  wears  the  same  sweet 
smile,  while  you  are  never  quite  the  same 
twice." 

"  Perhaps  I  have  a  touch  of  the  dragon 
and  a  dash  of  the  old  witch,"  suggested 
Frances. 

"  You  are  different  with  different  people," 
said  Alice  sagely.  "  With  me  you  are  always 
sweet  and  serious  and  real,  but  when  other 
people  are  near  you  keep  saying  little  keen, 
humorous  things  as  if  you  weren't  in  ear- 
nest, and  I  always  wonder  why." 

"  Nature,  little  Alice,"  said  the  Southern 
girl,  bending  to  kiss  the  parted  hair,  "  has 
given  to  each  animal  some  protective  armor : 
to  the  tortoise,  its  shell ;  to  the  porcupine, 
its  quills ;  why  should  woman  be  left  defense- 
less?" 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     163 

"  There  !  "  cried  Alice  triumphantly, "  that 
is  just  the  look  I  mean.  It  is  the  expression 
you  have  —  well,  when  you  talk  to  Alec,  for 
instance." 

"  I  did  not  know  it,"  said  Frances  Wilmot 
gravely,  and  even  as  she  spoke  she  saw  him 
far  off  on  the  green  slope,  coming  slowly  to- 
ward them.  They  waited  in  silence  on  the 
rocks,  watching. 

To  Alice  Bevanne  the  sojourn  of  this 
Southern  girl  at  the  Emerson  Inn  was  like 
a  dream  come  true.  She  had  lived  the 
twenty  years  of  her  life  in  an  old  yellow 
house  on  a  crossroad,  set,  with  a  row  of  lo- 
cust trees  at  one  side,  at  the  end  of  a  drive- 
way of  broken  poplars.  Year  after  year  the 
paint  had  worn  away  from  the  house,  and 
the  branches  had  fallen  from  the  scraggly 
trees.  Prosperity  had  long  deserted  the 
Bevanne  homestead ;  what  little  money 
there  was  had  to  be  devoted  to  Alec's  edu- 
cation, and  there  was  not  enough  even  to 
send  the  fair-haired  daughter  of  the  house 


164      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

to  boarding-school.  All  that  was  left  her 
the  invalid  mother  bestowed  upon  her  child, 
-the  training  of  a  gentlewoman,  and  her 
hardly  acquired  sense  of  the  peace  of  let- 
ting go. 

Frances  Wilmot,  one  of  the  rare  women 
on  whom  the  gift  of  happiness  and  the  gift 
of  sympathy  have  been  bestowed  at  the 
same  time,  had  divined  the  whole  story  after 
one  quick  glance  at  the  worn  carpets  and 
the  pale  faces  of  mother  and  daughter,  and 
Alice  was  brought  to  share,  so  far  as  was  pos- 
sible, the  Southern  girl's  free  life  of  wood 
and  shore.  Frances  must  have  some  one  to 
ride  with  her ;  would  Alice  mind  learning  ? 
The  woodland  roads  were  surpassingly  beau- 
tiful, and  Mr.  Phipps  happened  to  have  in 
his  stable  one  horse  that  would  be  just  right 
for  a  beginner.  Alice  made  merry  with  the 
guests  who  danced  in  gowns  of  pink  or  white 
or  green  at  the  Inn  under  the  dull  rafters  in 
the  evening,  or  tossed  out  over  the  waves 
in  white-sailed  boats,  following  the  flight  of 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     165 

the  gulls,  or  drove  through  long  mornings 
by  hidden  roads  where  ferns  dipped  their 
pale  green  fronds  into  tiny  brooks  trickling 
over  the  wayside  rocks.  No  motion  that  her 
hostess  made  escaped  her ;  the  young  girl's 
eyes  followed  her  with  a  look  that  enveloped 
her  as  with  sunshine.  Whether  she  wakened 
the  place  to  music,  or  arranged  flowers  in 
just  the  right  places,  —  great  bowls  of  yellow 
roses  against  deep  blue  or  dull  green  porti- 
eres, or  clusters  of  fern  against  the  yellow 
wall,  —  Alice  Bevanne  watched  and  under- 
stood. Color  and  fragrance  and  beauty 
flooded  the  starved  little  life. 

"Who  owns  all  this  ?"  asked  Frances  Wil- 
mot,  as  the  young  man  strolled  up,  fresh  and 
smiling  in  his  well-cut  golf  suit  of  gray 
cheviot. 

"  Oh,  our  friends  the  Warrens,"  he  an- 
swered, throwing  himself  upon  the  grass  near 
by.  "  Nearly  half  the  county  belongs  to 
them.  I  used  to  call  the  estate  '  Bare-acres/ 
after  Thackeray,  you  know,  only  I  spelled  it 


166      THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

B-e-a-r.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  elder  Mr.  War- 
ren was  something  of  a  bear.  And  speaking 
of  the  Warrens,  it  is  a  great  pleasure  to  us 
to  think  that  such  friendly  relations  have 
been  established ;  I  cannot  help  feeling  that 
it  is  in  some  way  partly  due  to  you.  They  are 
old  enemies  of  ours,  hereditary,  you  know ; 
it 's  a  sort  of  a  Montague  and  Capulet  affair." 

"  If  you  go  on  like  this,"  said  Frances, 
with  the  sudden  flash  of  her  smile  across  a 
face  alive  with  mischief,  "  I  shall  have  to 
bring  a  book  of  '  One  Hundred  Useful  Liter- 
ary Allusions '  in  order  to  understand  you.  I 
have  n't  a  doubt  I  could  find  one  at  the  Inn." 

Then  she  was  sorry,  not  because  the  young 
man's  face  changed,  but  because  she  caught 
Alice  Bevanne's  eyes,  which  always  gave  her 
a  look  of  knowing  more  than  she  ought  of 
hidden  human  motive. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  there  had  been  en- 
mity," she  said  hastily.  "What  caused  it? 
Did  some  very  early  wicked  Warren  lay 
hands  on  his  neighbors'  barns  ?  " 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     167 

Alec  Bevanne  shook  his  head. 

"  Nobody  knows  the  whole  story,  but  from 
early  days  there  has  been  outspoken  en- 
mity, and  as  boys  young  Warren  and  I  struck 
out,  like  many  warriors  of  larger  growth, 
in  a  quarrel  which  we  did  not  understand. 
It  has  always  been  more  or  less  of  a  mys- 
tery, though  I  believe  it  began  with  some- 
thing akin  to  murder,  certainly  with  blood- 
shedding." 

"  I  think  it  was  some  dispute  about  land," 
suggested  Alice  Bevanne. 

"  It  is  really  very  nice  of  them  to  be  so 
friendly,"  said  the  young  man.  "  And  are  n't 
they  interesting  as  a  family !  Mrs.  Warren 
is  charming." 

"  I  won't  tell  him  that  the  impression  is 
mutual,  because  he  oughtn't  to  be  talking 
about  them,"  mused  Frances  Wilmot. 

"  I  find  Uncle  Peter  a  perpetual  delight  as 
a  study,  and  I  marvel  at  their  patience  with 
him.  Young  Warren  is  a  fine  fellow.  I  like 
that  touch  of  the  ancestral  bear  in  him, 


don't  you  ?  though  it  is  rather  a  pity  that  he 
has  cut  himself  off  from  all  social  life." 

"  I  really  had  not  thought  about  it,"  said 
the  girl  coldly.  "  I  'm  not  very  well  ac- 
quainted with  Mr.  Warren.  He  seems  to 
belong  to  a  type  of  man  that  is  fast  dying 
out ;  and  personally  I  like  it  better  than  the 
kind  that  plays  the  guitar  and  reads  Ouida. 
He  is  a  very  quiet  person." 

"He's  tremendous  down  under,"  said 
Alice  Bevanne,  "  like  some  smothered  ele- 
mental force,  perhaps  a  tidal  wave  that 
has  n't  got  started." 

Frances  looked  quickly  at  her  with  puz- 
zled eyes. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  Alec  Bevanne.  "  That 's 
just  what  he  is  n't !  He  's  a  man  that  has 
worn  all  the  elemental  forces  out  of  himself, 
studying.  Dresses  oddly,  does  n't  he  ?  " 

Frances  Wilmot  looked  lazily  across  the 
sunlit  field  and  yawned. 

"  Mr.  Warren  looks  as  if  his  ancestors 
had  been  well  enough  dressed  to  allow  him 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE      169 

to  be  a  bit  oblivious  in  regard  to  his  clothes. 
Let 's  change  the  subject :  don't  you  like 
these  old  rocky,  fern-haunted  New  England 
fields,  with  their  '  gadding  vines '  and  their 
silences  ?  There  is  nothing  like  them  any- 
where." 

A  tiny  wild  rabbit  crept  round  the  edge  of 
a  rock  not  far  away,  and  stood,  all  a-quiver, 
with  front  paws  slightly  lifted,  gazing  with 
eyes  that  begged  to  know  if  danger  were 
near.  Catching  those  of  Alice  Bevanne,  it 
stood,  transfixed,  and  then  came  softly  for- 
ward as  if  it  had  found  there  an  invitation 
too  sweet  to  be  withstood.  The  beckoning 
motion  of  the  girl's  white  hand,  however, 
startled  the  little  wild  creature,  and  it  ran 
a  few  steps,  looking  back  over  its  shoulder 
with  a  glance  that  she  could  not  resist,  and 
she  was  off,  halfway  across  the  field,  follow- 
ing the  gay  feet  of  her  new  friend  as  they 
leaped  capriciously  here  and  there. 

"Alice  was  always  like  that,"  said  her 
brother,  as  the  two  watched  her.  "  She  can 


110       THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE 

tame  anything  under  heaven.  I  fancy  she 
will  come  back  with  bunny  riding  on  her 
shoulder." 

"I  don't  wonder,"  said  the  girl.  "I 
should  go  to  her  if  I  were  wild." 

"  Miss  Wilmot,"  said  the  young  man 
abruptly,  "  may  I  consult  you  on  a  personal 
matter  ?  I  know  I  ought  not  to  intrude,  and 
yet  I  trust  your  insight  completely." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  the  girl,  surprised,  and 
off  her  guard. 

"  More  than  you  know,"  he  answered 
warmly.  "  You  know  how  matters  are  with 
me :  I  'm  in  a  small  place  where  I  have  n't 
half  a  chance,  but  where  I  've  taken  a  cer- 
tain hold,  have  got  a  sort  of  influence,  you 
know." 

He  looked  inquiringly  at  her ;  she  nod- 
ded, and  moved  the  slightest  bit  farther 
away  upon  the  stone. 

"  Now  a  good  chance  has  come  for  me  to 
go  to  a  larger  place.  It  means  everything, 
from  the  point  of  view  of  ambition,  you 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE      171 

know  :  more  money,  wider  scope,  and,  some- 
thing for  which  I  care  very  much,  charming' 
social  life.  But  the  mud-stricken  little  town 
down  in  Alabama  haunts  me  ;  I  mean  some- 
thing there,  and  a  few  hungry  souls  have 
been  good  enough  to  say  that  I  mean  food 
to  them.  Now,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

The  bright  blue  eyes  were  full  of  elo- 
quent appeal ;  the  whole  face  quivered,  per- 
haps partly  with  a  sense  of  the  moment's 
dramatic  value. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Bevanne,"  she  said  slowly, 
"  that  the  question  is  one  which  you  ought 
to  ask  your  own  soul  and  not  mine." 

"But  a  woman  sees  so  much  more  clearly 
the  spiritual  values  of  things,"  he  answered, 
wondering  at  finding  a  feminine  conscience 
which  refused  to  act  as  leader  to  the  man  in 
a  moral  crisis. 

"  I  think,  from  the  very  way  you  have 
told  me,  that  you  see  the  spiritual  values 
here  very  clearly." 

"  Perhaps  I  need  a  little  moral  impetus,'* 


172       THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

he  answered.  "And  I  thought  you  might 
be  interested ;  it  is  the  South,  you  know." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  bring  undue  influ- 
ence to  bear  on  a  man  in  making  him  decide 
the  right,"  said  the  girl,  smiling.  "  It  is  a 
pity  to  deprive  anybody  of  a  chance  to  show 
what  strength  is  in  him." 

It  was  Alice  Bevanne,  coming  back  with- 
out the  gray  rabbit,  who  rescued  him  from 
the  embarrassment  caused  by  a  girl's  refusal 
to  take  a  personal  attitude  toward  his  pre- 
dicament ;  and  the  rescue  was  no  less  grate- 
ful to  Frances  than  to  him.  She  rose,  hold- 
ing out  both  hands  to  her  friend. 

"  You  have  saved  us  from  abstractions ; 
now  let 's  use  our  muscles." 

The  caddy  rose  from  the  ground,  where 
he  had  been  lying  at  a  discreet  distance, 
shouldered  his  burden,  and  led  them  to  pas- 
tures new. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     178 


XII 


J.JAZILY  Paul  Warren  paced  the  garden 
paths,  his  hands  loosely  clasped  behind  him, 
warm  sunshine  on  his  untroubled  face.  To 
the  young  recluse  these  summer  days  were 
like  the  coming  in  of  sudden  light  on  life, 
for  it  was  as  if,  from  mazes  and  tangles  of 
the  mind,  he  had  chanced  suddenly  upon 
a  world  of  beauty,  where  unseen  paths  lay 
clear.  The  rare  sunlight  of  a  yet  undiscov- 
ered youth  dawned  for  him  on  sea  and  dis- 
tant mountain  toward  the  north,  and  the 
dear  green  meadows  between;  and  he  sniffed 
the  roses  about  the  old  porch  with  the  feel- 
ing that  a  new  sense  had  been  granted  him. 
Slowly  he  was  learning  to  understand  all 
things  that  live  :  the  old  dog,  stretched  out 
on  the  sun- warmed  step ;  the  cows,  wander- 
ing  over  fresh  green  grass,  or  standing  knee- 


174      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

deep  in  placid  water;  the  wood  thrushes 
calling  to  each  other  in  the  cool  of  late 
afternoon.  There  was  an  amazing  simpli- 
city, after  all,  about  the  great  lesson  of 
beauty  ;  and  the  old,  old,  elemental  truths, 
which  had  been  true  all  the  time  he  had 
been  thinking,  were  his  at  last. 

The  woman  who  had  roused  him  from  his 
melancholy  was  naturally  much  in  his  mind ; 
and  when  he  met  her  by  the  box  border  of 
one  of  the  ancestral  flower  beds,  he  was 
hardly  conscious  that  the  picture  in  his  mind 
had  changed  to  that  of  actual  vision. 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  am  intruding,"  she 
said  as  she  faced  him.  "  Some  one  told  me 
that  you  were  not  at  home  to-day." 

"  You  never  intrude,"  he  answered. 

"  The  Lady  from  Boston  wanted  to  make 
a  polite  call,  and  I  came  with  her.  I  've  es- 
caped for  a  few  minutes  to  see  about  a  fern 
that  Andrew  promised  me.  I  am  very  fond 
of  the  garden,  you  know." 

"  Women    and    gardens,"   he    observe  d? 


"  have  always  had  a  peculiar  affinity,  from 
the  dawn  of  time." 

She  did  not  deign  to  answer  him  for  a 
moment,  but  stood,  silently  fingering  the 
petals  of  a  great  tiger  lily,  which  grew  erect 
and  tawny  among  its  fellows. 

"  That  reproach,"  she  said  at  length, 
"  comes  badly  from  either  man  or  the  ser- 
pent. Which  part  are  you  playing  ? " 

By  way  of  answer  he  merely  laughed, 
and  side  by  side  they  wandered  down  the 
long  path  in  silence.  It  was  a  hazy  July 
afternoon,  a  day  for  the  weaving  of  dreams 
or  the  casting  of  spells.  Through  the  warm 
air  came  the  murmur  of  bees,  and  the  wind 
that  touched  the  eyelids  was  fresh  and  sweet 
from  the  sea. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  ? "  asked  the 
girl  at  length. 

"  I  was  merely  wondering,"  he  answered, 
stopping  by  a  row  of  sweet  peas  that  fluttered 
like  butterflies  pausing  on  wings  of  purple 
or  rose  color  or  white  by  the  dull  cedar 


176      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

hedge,  "if  Adam  saw  the  flowers  of  the 
Garden  before  Eve  was  created." 

"  Perhaps  the  apple  blossoms,"  said 
Frances  mischievously,  and  with  that  they 
came  to  an  old  apple  tree,  standing,  gray- 
green,  against  a  soft  blue  sky,  its  branches 
alive  with  the  murmur  of  wind  and  of  sea. 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,  Thinker,"  she 
demanded,  "  that  the  tree  of  knowledge 
was  not  the  tree  of  life  ?  Did  you  know 
that  there  were  two  in  the  Garden  of 
Eden?" 

"No,"  he  admitted.  "I  was  taught  but 
one." 

"  I  thought  so !  "  she  cried  triumphantly. 
"That  partly  accounts  for  you.  But  they 
were  distinct  and  separate,  and,  so  far  as  I 

9 

can  tell,  our  forefathers  and  foremothers 
might  have  gone  on  forever  eating  of  the 
tree  of  life  if  they  had  not  eaten  of  the 
tree  of  knowledge  first.  Oh,  I  can  forgive 
them  for  eating,  but  I  cannot  forgive  them 
for  choosing  the  wrong  tree." 


He  plucked  a  little  hard  green  apple  and 
gave  it  to  her. 

"Serpent!"  she  said,  as  she  turned  it 
over  and  over  in  the  palm  of  her  white  hand. 
"  Knotty,  and  hard,  and  sour,  from  the  tree 
of  knowledge.  If  they  had  only  known 
enough  to  nibble  one  wee  bit  from  the 
leaves  of  the  tree  of  life ! " 

"  Living  forever  in  a  garden  would  have 
been  a  bit  wearisome,  would  n't  it  ? "  he 
ventured. 

"  Living,  no !  "  she  said,  with  a  little  stamp. 
"  Thinking,  groping  about,  yes.  Please  shut 
your  eyes." 

He  did  so. 

"  What  do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Bees,  and  soft  waves,  and  a  voice  that 
is  like  music." 

"  What  do  you  see  ?  Keep  your  eyes 
shut." 

"A  shimmer  of  blue  and  of  green,  with 
the  flowers  of  the  garden  resting  against  it ; 
and  what  else  I  see  I  shall  not  tell." 


178      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

The  girl  nodded  with  satisfaction. 

"  You  are  coming  to  your  senses,  Ghost," 
she  said.  "  I  mean,  in  the  real,  not  the  usual, 
acceptance  of  the  term." 

Not  far  from  the  apple  tree,  in  a  quiet 
corner  where  a  few  straggling  scarlet  pop- 
pies burned  on  the  summer  air,  was  an  old 
wooden  rustic  seat,  and  Frances  Wilmot 
dropped  into  it  with  a  sigh  of  pleasure. 

"  The  Lady  from  Boston  has  n't  finished 
looking  over  the  old  punch  bowls  yet:  do 
you  think  she  has  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  she  has  not,"  said  Paul  War- 
ren, sitting  down  on  the  grass,  with  a  like 
sense  of  weariness  and  of  delight.  "  Did  it 
ever  occur  to  you  that  your  wisdom  is  based 
too  much  on  mere  temperament  ?  " 

"And  what  is  your  philosophy,"  she  re- 
torted, "  but  temperament  —  in  a  formula  ?  " 

He  laughed,  the  sudden  laugh  of  sheer 
pleasure  that  nothing  but  this  girl's  sauci- 
ness  had  ever  won  from  him. 

"It  is  a  story-book   day,"   said  Frances 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     179 

Wilmot,  following  with  her  eyes  the  motion 
of  the  slow  white  clouds  on  the  horizon. 
"  It  is  the  kind  of  a  day  that  makes  you  feel 
that  beautiful  things  will  happen :  the  giant 
will  forget  his  plan  of  having  little  boys  and 
girls  for  supper,  and  the  dragon  will  dream 
instead  of  going  a-hunting." 

"  Tell  me  a  story,"  said  the  man,  from  the 
grass. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  cared  for  them." 

"You  evidently  do  not  know  me,"  he 
answered. 

Leaning  back  she  pondered,  the  flicker- 
ing light  and  shadow  of  a  slim  young  locust 
falling  on  her  bare  head,  and  after  a  few 
minutes  began :  — 

"  Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  land  beau- 
tiful beyond  the  power  of  the  tongue  to  say, 
with  soft  green  meadows  where  deep  grass 
waved  all  day  long  in  summer,  and  strag- 
gling fences  where  slim  poplars  stood,  white, 
with  a  shower  of  pale  green  leaves  against 
the  blue  sky.  It  had  a  long  coast  line,  curv- 


180      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

ing  beach  of  yellow  sand  and  high-piled,  dull 
red  rocks  or  gray  between  the  blue  of  the 
water  and  the  green  of  the  meadows  by  the 
sea.  Somewhere  there  were  mountains  all 
softly  wooded,  and  there  were  loveliest  pas- 
ture lands  green  and  gray.  Over  it  all  blos- 
somed flowers,  crocus  and  violet  and  may- 
flower  in  the  spring,  and  pink  wild  roses 
and  scarlet  poppies  in  summer,  and  golden- 
rod  with  the  coming  of  fall. 

"  Now,  it  was  a  land  on  which  there  was 
a  spell.  Some  old  irony  of  the  gods  lay 
across  it  like  a  mocking  smile,  and  its  beauty 
of  color  and  of  sound  when  the  sea  sang  round 
it  and  the  wind  murmured  in  the  trees  — 
beauty  to  the  breaking  of  the  heart  —  was 
holden  from  the  people  who  lived  there. 
The  fates  which  preside  over  the  puzzles  of 
men's  hearts  had  set  this  folk  to  weaving 
little  webs  all  out  of  their  own  brains :  little 
gray  gossamer  webs  which  they  kept  tying, 
tying  across  their  eyes ;  fine  little  webs  of 
brown  which  they  kept  weaving,  weaving 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE     181 

across  their  ears  ;  heavy  webs  of  slaty  drab 
with  which  they  covered  their  fingers,  so 
that  eyes  and  ears  and  finger  tips  were 
blinded.  Day  after  day  and  year  after  year 
they  sat  in  their  houses  and  spun  and  spun 
and  wove  and  wove,  all  in  the  dark;  and 
they  moved  along  the  sweet  green  leafy 
lanes  with  groping  hands,  and  the  bobolinks 
went  mad  on  the  meadow  grasses  because 
they  could  not  make  men  hear,  and  the 
little  winds  sighed  and  wailed  because  men 
were  deaf  to  the  music  that  they  made  in 
the  leaves,  and  the  blue  of  the  sky  and  the 
blue  of  the  sea  met  in  sorrow  because  men 
were  blind.  Then  the  fates  which  preside 
over  the  puzzles  of  men's  hearts  leaned  back 
and  chuckled,  for  of  all  the  games  that  they 
could  play  they  liked  the  Tantalus  game 
the  best." 

As  the  girl's  voice  ceased,  a  great  bum- 
ble-bee took  the  story  up  and  noisily  added  a 
few  remarks ;  a  tiny  yellow  warbler  chirped 
a  few  notes,  and  the  little  breeze  in  the  lo- 


cust  whispered  a  few  bits  of  story,  until  the 
man  sitting  on  the  grass  continued  the  tale. 

"  So  it  lasted  until  one  day  a  wise  en- 
chantress came  wandering  up  the  shore. 
She  was  a  lazy  enchantress  who  neither 
toiled  nor  spun,  but  walked  idly  through 
the  meadows  while  all  good  maids  and  ma- 
trons were  busy  with  their  webs." 

"  Why  did  she  come  ?  "  asked  Frances.  "  I 
like  to  have  everything  definite  in  my  sto- 
ries." 

"  For  mischief,"  he  answered,  "  to  break 
up  the  gray  color  and  to  upset  the  old  order 
which  was  so  comfortable  and  so  even." 

"  Which  way  did  she  come  ?  "  There  was 
a  touch  of  defiance  in  the  voice  that  asked 
the  question. 

"  She  came  from  the  South,  trailing  her 
long  robes  after  her ;  and  though  she  was 
all  in  white,  there  was  always  about  her  an 
iridescence  of  color,  as  if  her  beauty  broke 
the  white  light  a  thousand  ways,  to  gold 
and  violet  and  crimson  and  blue." 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE      183 

"  I  should  never  have  supposed  that  you 
could  tell  a  fairy  story  so  well,"  said  Frances, 
yawning. 

"  I  am  quite  susceptible  to  influences  of 
style,"  he  answered,  and  took  up  the  tale 
again. 

"  They  called  her  the  Opener  of  Doors, 
for  every  moment  spent  with  her  was  like  the 
throwing  wide  of  doors  and  windows  look- 
ing out  on  life  and  beauty.  And  her  voice 
worked  mischief  with  the  hearts  of  men,  for 
the  melody  of  summer  days  had  got  into  it : 
of  the  wind  running  through  the  deep  mea- 
dow grass  and  making  it  wave  in  great 
ripples;  of  bees  and  dragon-flies  humming 
in  the  warm  air;  of  leaves  on  poplar  tree 
and  locust,  vibrating  to  unseen  touches  ;  and 
at  the  sound,  thoughts  and  feelings  that 
had  been  safely  shut  up  for  years  ran  out 
through  door  and  window,  nor  could  any 
one  tell  that  it  was  not  wind  and  bee  and 
dragon-fly  that  called.  Then  she  began  with 
her  white  fingers  to  untie  the  webs :  the 


184       THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

gray  webs  across  the  eyes,  the  brown  webs 
across  the  ears,  and  the  slaty-drab  webs 
wound  about  the  fingers;  and  the  sight  of 
the  eyes  and  the  hearing  of  the  ears  followed 
the  untying.  There  was  trouble  enough  in 
the  land  when  the  old  ways  were  undone 
and  this  woman  had  set  her  touch  of  wild- 
ness  there ;  for  there  was  pain  in  waking  to 
see  the  color  of  the  world  and  to  hear  its 
music." 

"  I  think  I  don't  care  to  hear  about  her," 
said  Frances.  "  She  was  a  troublesome  old 
witch,  who  meddled  too  much  with  other 
people's  affairs." 

"  It  is  not  polite  to  get  tired  before  the 
story  is  done,"  said  the  story-teller,  watch- 
ing her  from  the  shadow  of  the  locust  on  the 
grass ;  "  and  this  one  is  not  done,  it  is  only 
begun." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  sighed  the  girl.  "  I  never 
did  like  my  fairy  tales  too  long." 

"  Yes,  she  made  trouble,"  the  man  went 
on,  "  for  wherever  she  went  she  wakened 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     185 

hunger  in  men's  hearts  :  hunger  for  joy,  for 
the  gold  light  on  the  edge  of  things,  for  es- 
cape from  the  conscience-haunted,  dim,  gray, 
cobwebby  world  to  a  land  where  the  heart 
would  not  ache  with  sorrow,  and  where  tears 
would  not  come  to  the  eyes." 

"  Then  she  was  a  poor,  ignorant  enchan- 
tress," said  the  girl  softly,  "  for  it  is  good 
for  tears  to  come  to  the  eyes :  they  make 
the  vision  of  beauty  more  clear." 


186      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 


HOOD  was  hunting  for  his  master. 
There  were  certain  lanes  and  far  fields  where 
John  Warren  had  loved  to  walk,  which  his 
dog  now  patrolled  faithfully,  at  irregular  in- 
tervals, hoping  to  surprise  his  master  there 
at  sunrise  or  in  the  late  afternoon.  He  spent 
only  part  of  his  time  at  the  house,  sitting 
always  when  there  at  one  corner  of  the  great 
veranda,  or  lying  in  the  grass  near  by,  where 
he  could  watch  the  long  driveway  under  the 
overarching  elms.  Very  wistfully  he  gazed 
at  every  carriage  that  drew  near  and  at  the 
figures  that  alighted ;  never  the  right  one 
came.  The  old  dog  slept  lightly,  starting 
up  nervously  from  his  dreams  if  a  footfall 
sounded  that  had  in  it  any  echo  of  his  mas- 
ter's step,  and  flinging  himself  to  fuller  length 
on  ground  or  floor  when  a  second  echo 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     187 

showed  him  that  he  was  mistaken,  —  watch- 
ing, watching,  with  half  opened  eyes.  He 
admitted  no  one  to  his  friendship,  the  expe- 
rience through  which  he  was  passing  seeming 
to  justify  his  worst  suspicions  of  mankind ; 
and  he  gave  but  uncertain  obedience  to  the 
people  who  issued  orders  to  him,  for  the  voice 
which  he  knew  was  right  was  silenced  for- 
ever, and  he  listened  to  these  new,  unau- 
thorized commands  with  a  certain  skeptical 
lifting  of  the  ears. 

One  day  Robin  whimpered  long  at  the 
door  of  the  library,  scratching  with  eager 
paws  and  beseeching  to  be  admitted.  Paul, 
who  was  inside,  presently  opened  the  door 
to  him,  and  the  old  dog  rushed  joyfully  in, 
sniffing  at  chair  and  table,  and  at  the  papers 
lying  on  the  desk  in  the  corner. 

"Poor  old  fellow,"  said  Paul,  patting  his 
head ;  but  the  dog  shrank  away  suspiciously 
from  the  caress :  not  until  John  Warren's 
absence  was  accounted  for  should  they  place 
cajoling  hands  on  him !  He  lay  down  under 


188      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

the  desk  where  Paul  was  busy  with  his  fa- 
ther's papers,  giving  a  little  whimper  now 
and  then  as  the  unfolding  of  one  after  an- 
other brought  back  to  his  dog-sense  his 
master's  very  presence.  One  yellow  folded 
paper  fluttered  to  the  floor  as  a  bundle  of 
letters  from  the  farthest  pigeon-hole  was  un- 
tied. Robin  laid  his  paws  lovingly  upon  it, 
and,  stretching  out  his  head,  half  fell  asleep, 
dreaming  of  happier  days. 

Paul  was  going  slowly  through  his  father's 
papers,  shrinking  often  from  the  touch,  which 
brought  with  it  a  new  sense  of  hurt.  He 
could  not  bear  the  sight  of  the  fine,  soft  dust 
already  gathered  there,  wearing,  he  half 
fancied,  a  certain  symbolic  expression  which 
made  it  differ  from  the  dust  gathered  on 
the  possessions  of  the  living.  Everything 
was  in  good  order  :  important  mortgages  and 
deeds  were  in  the  safe  built  into  the  wall 
behind  a  swinging  bookcase.  Here  in  the 
desk  were  only  old  letters  and  documents 
that  showed  the  interests  and  the  plea- 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     189 

sures  of  scores  of  years  ago :  faded  pro- 
grammes from  Washington  theatres  of  plays 
given  there  when  John  Warren  had  been 
congressman ;  memoranda  of  articles  to  be 
bought,  —  a  copy  of  Moore's  poems,  for  in- 
stance, and  a  diamond  ring.  Paul  smiled  as 
he  read  the  latter  item,  little  likely  to  be 
forgotten,  and  written  there  probably  only 
in  the  lover's  pleasure  in  putting  down  the 
words.  That  ring  was  on  his  mother's  hand 
to-day.  The  young  man  found  a  thousand 
hints  and  suggestions  that  connected  his 
father's  experience  with  his  own :  bits  of 
verse  that  recalled  the  manuscripts  kept 
under  lock  and  key  in  his  own  room ;  keen 
hints  of  criticism  of  books  lately  read,  and 
here  and  there  a  faded  flower.  The  look  in 
Robin  Hood's  blinking  eyes  and  that  in  his 
master's  were  very  near  akin  in  tenderness 
as  the  work  went  on ;  to  John  Warren's  son 
it  seemed  as  if  he  himself  had  traveled  all 
that  long  way  and  were  only  now  remem- 
bering. 


He  tied  up  the  bundles  neatly,  as  he  had 
found  them,  and  in  doing  so  for  the  first 
time  noticed  the  letter  that  had  fallen  to  the 
floor  and  was  lying  under  the  paws  of  Robin 
Hood,  who  whimpered  over  it  mournfully. 
The  old  dog  growled  as  it  was  drawn  away ; 
would  they  take  from  him  even  this  last 
bit  of  paper  that  bore  his  master's  touch? 
As  he  carelessly  opened  it  the  young  man 
quickened  to  sudden  interest  and  read  it, 
half  protesting  with  himself  against  his  own 
act.  He  looked  at  the  signature,  and  re-read 
it,  then  sat  gazing  at  it  with  the  expression 
of  a  man  on  whom  light  had  fallen  where  he 
had  been  groping  in  the  dark. 

It  was  an  impassioned  love  letter,  —  ap- 
parently a  first  avowal,  for  the  words  came 
thick  and  fast  as  if  they  had  long  been 
choked  back,  —  from  the  father  of  Alec 
Bevanne  to  Mrs.  Warren.  It  bore  the  date  of 
the  year  of  her  marriage,  and  must  have  been 
written  when  she  was  a  bride,  and  when 
Frederick  Bevanne  was  still  a  bachelor. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     191 

"Whatever  you  may  say  of  right  and 
wrong,"  the  hot  words  ran,  "and  I  know 
by  the  look  of  your  sweet  face  that  you 
will  have  much  to  say,  I  know  only  this: 
I  cannot  live  without  you,  —  I  cannot,  I 
cannot.  If  I  may  not  be  near  you,  always, 
while  I  breathe,  I  shall  fling  myself  into 
the  ocean.  If  you  will  come  to  me  and 
escape  from  the  prison  in  which  you  are 
shut,  I  will  make  your  life  a  long  dream  of 
beauty." 

Paul  turned  the  letter  over  and  over  in 
his  hands,  and  caught  sight  of  a  brief  mem- 
orandum on  the  back,  written  there  in  faded 
ink :  "  Brought  me  by  my  wife." 

John  Warren's  son  started  as  if  smitten 
by  a  blow,  and  a  thrill  of  fear  ran  along  his 
nerves.  What  might  have  been,  what  had 
been,  the  effect  of  this  insult  upon  his  father, 
whose  sense  of  honor  had  been  keen  to 
morbidness,  whose  anger,  when  roused,  had 
been  unappeasable  ?  Robin's  vague  sense  of 
trouble,  stimulated  by  the  look  on  his  young 


192      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

master's  face,  broke  out  into  a  mournful 
howl  whose  echoes  sounded  full  of  memories 
of  old  quarrels,  fierce  and  never  ended.  The 
very  clock  in  the  corner  seemed  touched  by 
the  mystery,  and  ticked  away  in  solemn 
questions,  to  which  no  answer  came.  Paul 
searched  pigeon-hole  and  corner  for  further 
records  which  might  throw  light  upon  this 
one,  and,  finding  nothing,  almost  groaned  in 
relief,  glad  not  to  know  what  had  befallen. 
At  last  he  half  understood  the  look  upon  his 
dying  father's  face,  and  knew  that  this  had 
been  placed  among  offenses  not  to  be  for- 
given. 

He  picked  up  the  letter  in  gingerly  fashion 
and  flung  it  into  the  fireplace,  then  touched 
it  with  a  match  and  watched  it  turn  to 
black  tinder,  marveling  as  he  did  so  at  that 
hot  Gallic  blood  to  which  love  had  been 
as  a  quick  flash  in  the  pan,  dangerous,  but 
probably  soon  over;  then  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders  with  a  gesture  of  relief.  What 
had  he  to  do  with  the  Bevannes,  with  old 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     193 

quarrels  and  old  mistakes  ?  Nothing,  and 
less  than  nothing.  All  this  had  gone  away 
into  oblivion,  and  he  would  keep  no  record 
of  refuse  bits  of  experience  which  were  fit 
for  nothing  save  to  be  cast  out  and  thrown 
away.  Why  must  the  shadow  of  the  past  fall 
so  persistently  on  present  days,  he  asked  him- 
self with  a  touch  of  irritation  ?  What  could 
burn  away  from  his  memory,  as  the  flame 
had  burned  the  letter,  the  needless  and 
meaningless  pain  of  all  his  life  ?  To  the 
awakened  soul  within  him  it  seemed  as  if 
brave  days  and  kindly  deeds  and  long  sunlit 
spaces  might  be  his  portion  if  but  the  im- 
possible could  happen  and  he  could  forget. 

Outside  it  was  full  summer,  with  all  its 
splendor  of  deep  leafage,  of  wide  fields  of 
golden,  ripening  grain,  and  of  wild  red 
August  lilies  blooming  in  the  wayside  grass ; 
but  in  the  heart  of  the  man  it  was  earliest 
spring,  when  the  first  flush  of  color  comes  to 
the  topmost  twigs,  and  a  ripple  of  pale  green 
runs  along  old  boughs.  He  dimly  remem- 


194      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

bered,  as  one  recalls  something  observed 
but  not  understood,  how  April  came  to  the 
old  house,  stealing  in  sweet  odors  down  long 
passageways,  and  flinging  her  banners  of 
pink  blossom  from  the  decaying  peach  trees 
in  the  garden.  A  sense  came  to  him  of 
green  springing  about  the  feet  along  worn 
pathways,  of  new  flickering  shadows  on  ten- 
der grass,  of  the  beat  of  bluer  wings  against 
the  blue.  An  April  mood  came  knocking  at 
the  doorways  of  his  soul,  crying  out  that  the 
past  should  be  but  the  rich  soil  in  which 
delicate  things  might  bloom  for  him,  while 
life  became  as  sudden  song  from  the  old 
eaves  at  dawn. 

He  roused  himself  from  his  reverie  with 
an  apprehension  of  danger.  Must  he  not  bar 
window  and  doorway  to  shut  the  intruder 
out  before  it  was  too  late  ?  He  paused,  in 
his  hand  a  faded  flower  that  had  fallen  from 
his  father's  papers,  and  something  thrilled 
through  him  as  the  wind  thrills  through 
poplar  leaves,  making  music  there.  His 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     195 

father  had  been  free  to  love  ;  why  not  he  ? 
Ah,  no,  he  was  apart  from  other  men  and 
must  abide  his  fate !  What  had  he  to  offer 
that  radiant  creature,  whose  voice  was  as 
earth's  hidden  music  made  audible,  and 
whose  dusky  hair  made  a  dark  glory  against 
the  blue  of  the  sky,  save  the  gloom  of  these 
old  walls,  a  moody  and  discouraged  lover, 
and  Uncle  Peter  ?  The  race  was  run  out, 
Paul  told  himself,  leaning  back  in  his  great 
leather  chair,  the  old  unreasonable  habit  of 
accepting  the  past  as  final  in  his  life  being 
too  strong  to  break.  They  had  never  in  their 
best  days  made  happy  homes,  these  War- 
rens; now  he  —  the  last  of  all,  on  whom 
the  blighting  melancholy  of  the  family  had 
descended,  he  who  was  impotent  to  achieve 
or  to  care  greatly  about  achievement  — 
would  never  ask  where  he  could  never  give. 
Would  young  Bevanne  win  there,  he  asked 
himself,  for  he  had  long  ago  divined  the 
secret  all  too  easily  betrayed  by  the  ardor 
of  his  young  neighbor's  eyes.  Paul  grew  hot 


at  the  thought,  then  reflected,  not  without 
satisfaction,  that  a  comparatively  obscure 
young  college  professor  would  have  little 
chance  of  winning  the  Southern  beauty. 
Why  was  it,  he  impatiently  asked  himself, 
clasping  his  hands  behind  his  head  and 
thrusting  an  ottoman  away  with  his  foot, 
that  when  he  fancied  himself  ready  to  go 
out  with  the  olive  branch  to  his  father's 
old  enemies,  this  persistent  distrust  of  the 
present  representative  of  the  family  waxed 
and  grew  ?  The  very  thought  of  his  young 
neighbor  roused  dislike.  He  objected  to  the 
blue  eyes,  the  over-ready  smile,  the  profes- 
sional vocabulary  of  long  words,  the  slightly 
exaggerated  courtesy.  Paul  smiled  at  him- 
self, becoming  for  the  moment  a  disinter- 
ested spectator  of  the  workings  of  his  own 
mind.  Was  his  father's  fiery  indignation 
against  the  Bevannes  descending  upon  him, 
who  had  all  his  life  long  watched  it  with  a 
feeling  of  amused  pity  ? 

Again  he  came  back  to  his  own  problem, 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     197 

resolved  to  reason  the  matter  out  once  for 
all  with  his  own  soul.  Of  his  morbidness  in 
shrinking  from  the  full  measure  of  human 
existence  his  intellect  was  fully  aware,  yet 
this  did  not  keep  him  from  a  resolve  to 
withhold  his  hand  lest  in  touching  sacred 
things  he  should  too  greatly  fail.  It  was 
no  renunciation  of  a  meagre  nature,  but  of 
one  rich  and  full,  smitten  now  with  a  man's 
hunger  and  thirst.  Aware  of  the  folly  of 
scruples  in  an  age  when  greatness  of  success 
seems  proportioned  to  lack  of  scruple,  and 
cursing  himself  as  a  Puritan  born  out  of  his 
time,  he  faced  his  inner  fear,  —  fear  of  bring- 
ing misery  where  most  he  loved,  of  handing 
the  terrors  of  the  past  down  to  unborn  gen- 
erations to  whom  life  might  come  as  a  curse. 
Wearily  he  trod  his  old  circle  back  to  his 
starting-point,  wondering  again  at  the  deep 
irony  that  from  those  to  whom  the  doing  of 
the  right  was  the  one  supreme  thing  the 
right  should  be  veiled  beyond  human  ken. 
"  Give  us  more  insight,  0  Lord,  or  less," 


198      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

he  groaned  aloud,  and  Robin  Hood  blinked 
in  understanding. 

Yes,  he  would  retire  to  the  innermost  re- 
cesses of  his  soul :  drawbridge  and  moat  and 
barricade  should  be  made  ready  to  repel  this 
foe.  Then,  after  fleeing  thither,  manlike,  he 
courted  danger,  and  came  out  for  parley  and 
for  conference,  yearning  to  feel  the  thrill 
of  peril,  and  dauntlessly  brooding  over  the 
quiver  of  Frances  Wilmot's  mouth,  the  rustle 
of  her  gown.  Think !  He  could  not  think ! 
Reason  and  will  had  departed  together; 
young  tendrils  seemed  touching  eye  and 
ear;  unseen  blossoms  opening  just  beyond 
his  vision ;  and  all  along  the  trodden  paths 
of  thought  hid  violets  in  sudden  bloom. 


THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE     199 


XIV 

JL  HERE  was  an  almost  paternal  solicitude  in 
the  feeling  of  Paul  Warren  toward  Alec  Be- 
vanne,  after  reading  the  letter  which  had 
betrayed  the  tragedy  of  thirty  years  ago. 
Sympathy  with  his  own  father,  whose  heart's 
core  had  been  eaten  for  so  long  a  time  by 
hidden  hatred,  mingled  with  anxiety  for  this 
young  neighbor,  with  his  inheritance  of 
weakness  and  of  treachery ;  and  the  mea- 
sure of  his  pity  for  the  son  was  the  measure 
of  his  contempt  for  the  father.  For  one  with 
a  taint  like  that  in  his  blood  the  fight  to- 
ward high  standards  of  honor  must  be  hard 
indeed  ;  a  keener  anxiety  than  he  was  wont 
to  feel  regarding  the  inner  problems  of 
other  people  possessed  him  in  the  presence 
of  this  man. 

It  was  a  day  of  a  long  sail  and  of  a  picnic 


200      THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

on  a  white  sand  beach  a  dozen  miles  away. 
Mrs.  Warren  had  begged  for  it ;  there  were 
peculiar  shells  to  be  found  there,  and  the 
breakers  were  fine ;  did  not  Paul  think  that 
everybody  would  like  it  ?  Mr.  Bevanne  had 
said  that  it  would  be  charming.  Paul,  in- 
wardly groaning,  made  ready  with  a  cheer- 
ful face :  it  was  not  for  him  to  check,  even 
by  a  look,  the  gayety  of  fifty  years.  Thus  it 
happened  that  he  found  himself  piling  sticks 
in  company  with  the  son  of  his  father's  old 
enemy,  and  peacefully  boiling  water  in  a  cop- 
per saucepan  over  the  flame  that  leaped  high 
from  the  level  sand,  flickering  against  the 
blue ;  and  he  smiled  grimly  as  he  took  his  turn 
in  stirring  up  the  fire  with  a  long  oaken  staff. 
"  This  is  what  Christianity  and  civilization 
have  brought  us  to,"  he  said  to  himself,  hu- 
morously watching  the  handsome  pink  face 
and  the  smiling  blue  eyes.  "  Instead  of  my 
steel  at  his  throat  he  finds  my  sandwich  in 
hand,  and  munches  with  the  happy  abandon 
of  six  years." 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     201 

Gentle  pleasure  beamed  from  Mrs.  War- 
ren's sweet  blue  eyes  as  she  watched  her 
son ;  she  had  never  learned  to  discriminate 
between  his  smiles.  The  new  tenderness  in 
his  manner  toward  her  lent  warmth  to  the 
sunshine,  and  she  thrilled  with  the  thought 
that  he  and  she  were  making  these  people 
happy,  —  happy  in  the  old  way  of  her  girl- 
hood. Unhesitatingly  she  bade  them  spread 
her  dainty  damask  on  the  white  sea  sand,  and 
she  recklessly  placed  upon  it  fragile  cups  of 
white  and  gold  taken  from  an  old-fashioned 
wicker  basket.  The  thin,  rosy,  flaky  ham, 
the  firm,  white  chicken,  the  great  plums  with 
violet  bloom,  the  early,  ruddy  peaches,  and, 
above  all,  the  fragrant  coffee,  satisfied  the  stan- 
dard of  her  earlier  days  as  to  what  a  picnic 
should  be.  A  rare  flush  of  excited  pleasure 
stained  her  cheeks :  she  was  glad  that  Mr. 
Bevanne  was  having  such  a  good  time  devot- 
ing himself  to  Miss  Wilmot,  whom  Paul  was 
treating  with  marked  neglect.  A  girl  like  that 
ought  always  to  have  young  men  at  her  feet. 


THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE 

It  was  Uncle  Peter,  however,  to  whom 
the  occasion  brought  the  greatest  intoxica- 
tion of  delight;  he  enjoyed  himself  even 
enough  to  talk  with  Alice  Bevanne. 

"You — aren't  interested  in  heredity,  I 
believe,"  he  said,  as  he  nibbled  the  last 
crumbs  of  his  luncheon  from  his  fringed  nap- 
kin, and  looked  up  at  her  as  she  sat  above 
him  on  a  throne  of  sand. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed  I  am,"  she  answered. 

"  I  've  never  heard  you  speak  of  these 
matters." 

"I'm  interested  in  many  things  that  I 
don't  speak  of,"  she  said,  laughing. 

"  Now,  I  'm  not,"  asserted  Uncle  Peter 
stoutly.  "  I  believe  in  opening  out  to  your 
kind,  in  giving  all  you  have.  Well,  you 
have  some  splendid  bits  of  history  in  your 
family.  There's  French  blood  there,  as  of 
course  you  know.  You  are  naturally  ac- 
quainted with  the  story  of  your  ancestress 
who  played  so  heroic  a  part  during  the 
Revolutionary  War  ?  " 


"  Yes,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Tell  it,"  begged  Frances  Wilmot  from 
her  pile  of  sand,  but  Alice  Bevanne  shook 
her  head. 

"  Mr.  Warren  must  tell  it ;  I  should  only 
spoil  it." 

Uncle  Peter  was  only  too  ready. 

"  Why,  one  of  the  ancestresses  of  this 
young  lady  —  let  me  see,  it  must  have  been 
her  great-great-grandmother  —  defended  a 
house  for  a  couple  of  hours  against  the  red- 
coats and  fired  again  and  again  with  her  hus- 
band's old  shooting  rifle.  Came  out  of  it  with 
her  hair  partly  burned  off  and  her  face  all 
smoked,  and  fell  on  her  husband's  neck  with 
her  baby  in  her  arms  when  the  rescuing  party 
came ;  then  she  fainted.  Touching  story, 
isn't  it?"  Uncle  Peter  passed  a  silk  hand- 
kerchief across  his  eyes.  "I  —  I  feel  these 
things  very  much  myself." 

"  That 's  a  beautiful  story  !  "  cried  the 
Southern  girl. 

"  What  did  that  woman  look  like  ?  "  asked 


204 


Paul,  glancing  at  Alice  Bevanne  as  she  sat 
with  her  fine  profile  and  smooth,  parted  hair 
silhouetted  against  the  blue  water. 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  "  answered  Uncle 
Peter  indignantly.  "  I  was  n't  alive.  You 
youngsters  all  think  your  elders  were  wit- 
nesses of  what  happened  before  Methuselah 
was  born !  " 

"  There  are  pictures,  you  know,"  suggested 
Paul  apologetically. 

"  Oh,  that  is  what  you  mean !  Well,  I 
cannot  tell  you,  but  I  fancy  that  she  did  not 
look  much  like  this  young  lady." 

"  /  fancy  that  she  did,"  said  Frances  Wil- 
mot. 

"  Imagine  her  firing  a  gun !  "  jeered  Uncle 
Peter,  looking  at  the  girl's  slender  hands  that 
hung  loosely  in  her  lap. 

"  I  can  fancy  her  firing  a  gun,  or  a  powder 
mine,  if  it  were  necessary,"  said  the  Southern 
girl  saucily ;  "  not  that  she  would  do  it  for 
pleasure." 

Uncle  Peter  shook  his  head  as  he  rose. 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     205 

"  I  am  afraid  that  you  have  not  a  very 
deep  insight  into  character;  one  would 
hardly  expect  it  of  a  young  lady  with  so 
many  charms,"  and  he  made  a  deep  bow. 
"  Now  the  reading  of  character  is  one  of  my 
strong  points,  and  I  can  see  in  Miss  Bevanne 
a  most  devoted  domestic  personage,  but 
hardly  a  warrior." 

The  girl  was  looking  at  them  with  her 
humorous  little  smile,  aloof,  as  if  she  were 
the  last  person  to  be  concerned  in  this  dis- 
cussion of  herself,  in  which  she  claimed  no 
place,  even  by  the  quiver  of  an  eyelid. 

They  turned  and  went  their  several  ways, 
to  walk  on  the  firm  sea  sand  or  to  climb  the 
heights  beyond  the  beach.  It  was  a  brilliant 
day,  clearest,  bluest  of  all,  and  the  crisp  air 
stung  freshly  on  brow  and  cheek,  while  out 
and  out,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  great, 
even  breakers  came  rolling  in,  falling  into 
white  foam, —  the  nearer  ones  translucent 
green,  the  farther  purple-tinged.  As  close  to 
the  ripple  of  the  waves  as  she  could  safely  step 


206       THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

went  Frances  Wilmot,  gathering,  from  wet 
sand  or  dry,  frail  white  wave-beaten  shells, 
and  holding  them  in  her  hands  with  a  fine 
sense  of  their  symbolism.  Her  sea  treasures 
she  heaped  at  the  feet  of  Mrs.  Warren,  who 
sat  shading  her  eyes  as  she  looked  out  over 
the  great  water,  wondering  why  it  seemed  so 
much  more  beautiful  and  more  friendly  than 
of  old. 

Meanwhile,  wilted  and  wan,  to  the  top 
of  the  grass-grown  promontory  at  the  left 
wearily  climbed  Uncle  Peter,  for  the  gay 
mood  was  gone,  and  the  droop  of  the  wrin- 
kles at  the  corners  of  his  mouth  betrayed  the 
inward  man.  Always  black  melancholy  sat 
croaking  near,  ready  to  flap  her  raven  wings 
at  slight  provocation  about  Uncle  Peter's 
head,  for  a  time,  at  least,  and  she  was  flap- 
ping them  lustily  now,  because  of  Paul's 
careless  question.  Paul  had  broken  in  upon  a 
mood  that  was  all  compact  of  youth  with  an 
inquiry  which  suggested  in  him  remote  age, 
and  this  in  the  presence  of  Miss  Wilmot!  It 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE      Wt 

was  not  all  resentment  against  Paul,  however, 
which  filled  his  thought :  this  momentary 
conviction  of  age  always  brought  with  it  a 
sense  of  a  life  spent  without  its  proper  dues. 

It  was  at  the  top  of  the  cliff  that  he  met 
Alec  Bevanne,  who  was  having  a  brief  run 
for  exercise,  and  who  stopped,  panting,  a 
vivid  red  coming  and  going  in  his  cheeks. 

"Aren't  you  feeling  well?"  asked  the 
young  man,  halting  as  he  saw  the  other's 
face. 

"  As  well,"  answered  Uncle  Peter,  out  of 
the  gloom,  "  as  a  victim  of  both  God  and 
man  could  be  supposed  to  feel." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Warren,  what  have  you  got 
against  God  and  man  ?  "  asked  Alec  Bevanne 
good-naturedly.  He  liked  Uncle  Peter,  and 
always  found  any  kindness  shown  him  more 
than  repaid  in  amusement. 

The  old  man  folded  his  arms,  uncon- 
sciously taking  the  attitude  which  he  had 
more  than  once  seen  assumed  by  the  vil- 
lain on  the  stage. 


208       THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

"  God  has  given  me  an  undeserved  in- 
heritance of-^-of  tendencies,"  he  remarked, 
"  and  man  has  taken  from  me  the  pos- 
sessions that  were  mine  by  hereditary 
right." 

Alec  Bevanne  slipped  his  hand  through 
the  misanthrope's  arm. 

"  Great-great-grandfather  Warren  trou- 
bling you  to-day  ?  "  he  asked  jocosely. 

"  He  is  always  troubling  me,"  said  Uncle 
Peter.  "In  my  soul  of  souls  I  feel  him 
crouching,  ready  to  spring."  . 

"  Well,  what  about  your  other  trouble  ? 
Pour  it  all  out,  and  you  will  feel  better." 

The  words  were  comforting,  and  the  wa- 
vering mind  of  Uncle  Peter  wavered  assent. 

"  It  is  something  I  would  not  tell  every- 
body, but  you  have  a  face  to  be  trusted. 
I  should  confide  in  that  face  if  I  met  it  dis- 
embodied in  the  Desert  of  Sahara !  " 

"All  right!     Go  ahead!" 

"It  is  about  my  property,"  said  the  old 
man  in  a  whisper,  "  wrested,  wrested  away." 


"How's  that?"  said  Alec,  drawing  him 
into  a  brisk  walk. 

"  Simply  defrauded  of  my  birthright,  that 
is  all,  Mr.  Bevanne !  I  was  the  elder  son, 
and  yet  Paul's  father,  my  younger  brother 
John,  got  it  all,  except  an  annuity  to  me. 
When  John  died  I  naturally  expected  some 
readjustment  of  affairs,  but  no !  The  same 
annuity  comes,  and  Paul,  it  seems,  steps  into 
his  father's  whole  estate.  There  has  been 
fraud  somewhere ;  now  tell  me,  whose  was 
the  fraud  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  You  take  too  dark  a  view  of  it. 
If  I  were  comfortable  I  should  not  worry 
about  might-have-beens,  though  I  admit  that 
it  looks  queer." 

Uncle  Peter  shook  his  head  and  dragged 
his  companion  into  a  slower  walk. 

"  There 's  a  mystery  somewhere,"  he  said 
simply ;  "  I  've  suspected  it  all  my  life.  Lit- 
tle hints  out  of  my  childhood  come  back :  for 
instance,  I  remember,  when  my  brother  John 
was  born,  —  an  occasion  which  naturally 


made  a  great  impression  upon  me,  —  going 
into  the  library  and  finding  my  father  there 
with  a  tall  man  in  black.  They  had  some 
papers  with  them,  and  they  stopped  talking 
when  I  came  in.  I  can  remember  as  dis- 
tinctly as  if  it  were  yesterday  how  my  father 
put  his  hand  on  my  head  and  said  something 
about  its  being  hard  on  somebody ;  I  presume 
the  experience  through  which  I  was  passing 
made  me  extraordinarily  sensitive  to  receive 
and  to  retain  impressions. 

" '  Is  he  bright  ? '  the  man  said.  My  fa- 
ther shook  his  head.  Until  then  I  had 
thought  that  they  were  talking  about  me, 
and  lately  I  have  begun  to  suspect,  in  think- 
ing it  all  over,  that  my  first  impression  was 
right.  The  answer  that  that  man  made  is  still 
vivid  in  my  mind,  though  it  has  puzzled  me 
from  that  day  to  this :  i  Then  you  will  have 
less  difficulty  in  carrying  out  your  plan.'  Now, 
Mr.  Bevanne,  what  do  you  think  of  all  this?" 

The  young  man  was  whistling,  and  his 
eyes  were  filled  with  amused  wonder.  Was 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     211 

this  some  of  Uncle  Peter's  romancing,  or  had 
it  really  happened  ? 

"I  think,"  he  answered,  "  that  the  whole 
thing  is  extraordinary,  and  some  time  I 
should  like  very  much  to  hear  more  of  it. 
But  this  is  not  a  picnic  mood.  Down  there 
I  see  Mrs.  Warren  and  Miss  Wilmot  literally 
wasting  their  sweetness  on  the  desert  sand. 
Shall  we  join  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,  by  all  means,"  assented  Uncle  Peter, 
with  his  wrinkled  smile.  "  That 's  a  charm- 
ing girl !  Now,  if  I  were  you !  " 

"  If  you  were  I,"  said  Alec  Bevanne,  in 
sudden  dejection,  "  you  would  probably  be 
as  big  a  fool  as  I  am ;  but  you  are  not  I,  so 
congratulate  yourself." 

It  was  while  this  conversation  was  going  on 
that  Paul  Warren  had  climbed  the  high  white 
sand  dune  guarding  the  beach,  and  had  come 
full  upon  the  tidal  river  that  flowed  here  be- 
tween sand-bound  banks,  blue  toward  a  bluer 
sea.  Long  reeds  and  grasses,  washed  by  tide 
waters,  grew  at  its  edge,  and  drooping  wil- 


212      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

lows  dipped  their  pale  green  fronds  into  its 
intense  color.  There  were  ripples  on  its  sur- 
face, and  reeds  and  grasses  swayed ;  it  was 
a  day  of  strong  breeze,  and  mighty  waves, 
and  heroic  moods.  Idly  following  the  motion 
of  the  water,  Paul  became  suddenly  aware 
that  Alice  Bevanne  was  leaning  against  the 
golden-brown  bark  of  one  of  the  willows  not 
far  away,  and  with  the  sight  of  her  he  sud- 
denly remembered  one  of  the  shadows  that 
lay  for  him  across  the  sun.  Unobtrusively 
he  watched  her,  full  of  a  wistful  desire  to 
atone  to  her,  through  some  finer  shade  of 
courtesy,  for  having  had  a  father  like  that. 
To  him  she  was  as  perfect  an  enigma  as  he 
had  ever  found,  —  aloof,  silent  when  he  was 
near,  she  often  watched  him  with  those  won- 
derful eyes  which  seemed  to  make  her  face 
all  vision,  yet  persistently  avoided  him,  prob- 
ably because  she  could  not  so  soon  forget  the 
family  hate.  Now,  leaning  as  with  the  sud- 
den abandon  of  utter  weariness  against  the 
tree,  with  her  hands  clasped  about  the  bark, 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE     213 

she  was  looking  down  into  the  river.  Soft 
gleams  of  brown  and  of  gold  came  from  its 
pebbled  depths ;  green  reflections  from  the 
feathery  leaves  above  quivered  there,  where 
the  blue  of  the  sky  was  mirrored  back  in 
softer,  tenderer  blue.  So  intent  was  the  gaze 
of  the  girl's  eyes  that  Paul  could  almost 
have  believed  her  to  be  holding  communi- 
cation with  some  water  spirit  of  the  stream. 
The  whole  slender  figure  wore  a  curious 
expression,  like  the  look  he  had  more 
than  once  seen  in  her  eyes,  as  of  one 
who  asked  nothing  and  expected  nothing, 
not  even  to  understand.  She  had  the  face 
of  one  whom  no  fate  could  find  unpre- 
pared. 

"  I  must  beg  your  pardon  for  disturbing 
you,"  he  said,  going  near  her.  She  looked 
up  at  him,  unsmiling. 

"You  do  not  disturb  me,"  she  answered. 

Something  in  the  deep  light  of  her  eyes, 
which  had  failed  to  change  so  quickly  the 
expression  they  had  worn  in  gazing  into  the 


214      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

water,  arrested  him,  and  he  paused  on  the 
bank. 

"  Miss  Bevanne,"  he  said,  and  then  stopped 
abruptly. 

"Yes?"  asked  the  girl. 

"  There  is  something  that  I  have  wanted 
for  a  long  time  to  say  to  you,  and  it  has  been 
difficult,  for  we  are  both  a  little  shy,"  he 
said,  with  a  boldness  which  dumbfounded 
himself.  She  did  not  answer  him,  but  waited. 
"You  know  something  of  the  old  enmity 
between  your  family  and  mine  ?  " 

She  bent  her  head  in  assent,  and  the 
strange,  pale  gold  of  her  hair  seemed  to  make 
a  light  about  her. 

"I  hope,"  he  added  hesitatingly,  "that  for 
you,  as  for  me,  it  is  over.  I  hope  that  you 
do  not  share  the  old  feeling,  or  connect  it 
with  me  ?  " 

The  ghost  of  a  little  smile  flitted  across 
Alice  Bevanne's  pale  face. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  that  ?"  she  said  quietly. 
"  Do  I  act  like  an  enemy  ?  " 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     215 

He  was  puzzled  for  a  minute,  and  colored 
in  embarrassment. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  and  was  silent.  Then, 
as  they  looked  at  each  other,  the  girl's  eyes 
wore  the  look  of  one  about  to  smile,  but  she 
did  not.  It  was  he  who  smiled.  "  I  have 
sometimes  been  afraid  that  I  annoyed  you," 
he  said  frankly.  "  It  has  seemed  to  me  that 
you  avoid  me,  and  I  have  been  wondering 
what  I  could  do  to  make  myself  not  entirely 
obnoxious.  To  me  it  seems  best  to  let 
old  grudges  die,  and  I  should  like  to  be 
friends." 

She  did  not  change  color,  and  yet  so 
transparent  here  was  the  veil  of  flesh,  that 
her  swift  change  of  mood  seemed  to  leave 
a  physical  record  in  her  face. 

"I  have  not  thought  of  you  as  an  en- 
emy, Mr.  Warren,"  she  said,  holding  out  her 
hand. 

He  took  it  gladly. 

"  It  is  perhaps  an  absurd  fancy  of  mine  ; 
possibly  it  is  a  guilty  conscience,  or  an  an- 


216      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

cestral  guilty  conscience,  but  I  had  thought 
that  you  rather  withdrew  from  any  matter 
in  hand,  golf  or  tennis,  or  whatever  it  might 
be,  if  I  was  one  of  the  players." 

She  smiled  for  the  first  time  now. 

"  I  think  that  you  must  forget  your  ear- 
liest acquaintance  with  me.  Was  I  not  al- 
ways the  little  sister  who  watched,  but  did 
not  play  the  game  ?  " 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     217 


XV 


JL  AUL  wondered  at  a  certain  negligence  in 
Uncle  Peter's  dress  in  these  days,  for  the  old 
man  was  something  of  a  dandy,  and  vain  of 
his  irreproachable  clothes.  Now  day  after 
day  his  collar  was  limp,  his  coat  was  dusty, 
and  there  were  wrinkles  in  his  trousers, 
while  his  gay  and  egotistic  pessimism  was 
tarnished  by  persistent  sadness.  He  talked 
little,  but,  by  garden  path  or  piazza  corner, 
brooded  with  a  frown  upon  his  brow,  for- 
getful of  the  paper  novel  protruding  from 
his  pocket,  forgetful,  almost,  of  the  cigar 
between  his  teeth.  A  fixed  idea  was  on  his 
mind,  and  to  that  fixed  idea  everything  in 
nature  and  in  memory  contributed  :  he  had 
been  cheated  of  his  inheritance  ;  half-forgot- 
ten words  out  of  the  past  and  the  half- 
remembered  expressions  of  certain  faces 


218      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

confirmed  the  conviction,  as  did  the  look 
he  imagined  in  Paul's  eyes.  The  injury  had 
not  pressed  upon  him  so  heavily  in  John 
Warren's  day  :  he  had  stood  in  awe  of  John, 
and  even  to  his  butterfly  brain  it  had  seemed 
fitting  that  so  strong  a  hand  should  hold  the 
helm  ;  but  now  it  was  different.  Paul,  who 
had  been  a  baby  before  his  eyes ;  Paul,  who 
was  in  knickerbockers  but  yesterday,  had 
stepped  between  him  and  his  own.  The 
feeling  that  the  management  of  the  Warren 
affairs  had  been  given  to  one  much  younger 
anfl  therefore  more  incompetent  than  him- 
self was  galling  to  the  old  man ;  and  the 
sense  of  injury  that  he  had  felt  on  hearing 
his  own  father's  will  read,  —  had  felt,  but 
had  forgotten  in  his  busy  thoughts  and  his 
busy  reading  of  Ouida  and  the  Duchess,— 
came  back  with  more  than  its  pristine  force. 
Had  not  great-great-grandfather  Warren 
played  fast  and  loose  with  other  people's 
money  as  well  as  with  his  own  ?  Was  it  not 
probable,  although  no  cases  were  recorded, 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     219 

—  of  course  they  would  not  be  recorded, — 
that  there  had  been  in  the  family  history 
instances  of  questionable  honesty  ?  Surely, 
if  his  pages  of  fiction  spoke  truth,  there 
was  nothing  so  prone  to  trip  the  foot  of 
erring  man  as  the  golden  calf.  He  had  been 
wronged,  and  through  Paul's  accession  the 
situation  had  become  unendurable ;  should 
he  not  devote  his  best  energies  to  investiga- 
tion and  to  undoing  the  harm  done  ? 

As  he  wondered  where  to  begin,  remem- 
bering from  his  favorite  stories  moments 
where  the  veriest  trifles  had  become,  under 
the  working  of  an  acute  mind,  irresistible 
proofs  of  guilt,  it  occurred  to  him  that  old 
Andrew  Lane  might  be  of  use.  Andrew  had 
served  his  father,  and  doubtless  skillful 
questioning  would  elicit  valuable  information 
without  betraying  the  purpose ;  people  of 
that  class  were  usually  dull  of  intellect,  and 
slow  in  drawing  inferences.  He  would  begin 
with  Andrew. 

There  was  a  touch  of  hauteur  in  Uncle 


MO      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

Peter's  manner  as  he  walked  out  into  the 
new  orchard,  where  the  old  gardener  was 
pruning  branches  and  twigs  from  young 
pear  trees.  Andrew  Lane  was  rarely  respect- 
ful, he  confessed  to  himself,  and  he  resolved 
that  his  own  manner  should  strike  just  the 
balance  between  sternness  and  affability 
that  would  elicit  the  best  results.  Affability 
should  come  first. 

"  Good-morning,  good-morning,  Andrew," 
said  Uncle  Peter  genially,  as  he  drew  near 
the  spot  where  blue  overalls  and -a  torn  felt 
hat  betrayed  the  old  man's  presence.  The 
workman  nodded,  mumbling  an  inarticulate 
reply,  but  he  went  on  cutting. 

"Andrew,"  said  Uncle  Peter,  standing 
with  his  legs  slightly  apart  in  his  conception 
of  a  manly  attitude,  "  do  you  remember  my 
father  well  ?  " 

The  question  brought  the  pruning-shears 
to  an  abrupt  standstill,  and  two  shrewd  old 
blue  eyes  twinkled  humorously  from  under 
grizzled  eyebrows. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     221 

"  Yes,"  he  nodded. 

"  He  was  a  fine  man,  Andrew,"  remarked 
the  visitor,  with  a  sigh. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  the  old  gardener. 
"  Glad  you  think  so." 

"  Did  n't  you  think  so  ?  "  queried  Uncle 
Peter. 

Andrew  pushed  back  his  battered  hat  and 
went  to  work  again,  making  little  ineffectual 
periods  to  the  conversation  with  every  snip 
of  his  shears. 

"  He  was  honest,"  said  Andrew.  "  Any 
man  's  a  fine  man  that 's  honest,  I  s'pose." 

"  But  was  n't  he  especially  kind  to  you  ?  " 
demanded  Uncle  Peter,  an  edge  of  the  stern- 
ness that  he  had  planned  as  a  last  resort 
getting  into  his  voice  as  he  saw  the  old  ser- 
vant shaking  with  silent  laughter. 

"  Whiles  he  wuz,  and  whiles  he  wuz  n't," 
was  the  answer. 

A  reproof  quivered  on  Uncle  Peter's  lips, 
but  he  repressed  it.  Diplomatists,  he  re- 
flected, should  use  the  most  delicate  tact. 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

"  I  wonder  if  you  recall  anything  special 
about  him  the  winter  he  died  ;  I  was  in 
Florida,  you  know.  Did  anything  strike  you 
as  unusual  at  that  time  ?  " 

The  old  man's  eyes  pierced  through  the 
wrinkled  face  with  penetration  that  Mr. 
Peter  Warren  failed  to  see. 

"  He  wuz  about  as  usual,  I  guess." 

"  Quite  right  in  his  mind,  eh  ?  " 

"  About  as  usual,"  answered  the  gardener, 
grinning. 

The  baffled  questioner  made  a  sudden 
move  that  he  had  not  planned ;  at  least  he 
could  make  this  exasperating  old  man  take 
a  serious  view  of  the  situation. 

"  I  will  confide  in  you,  Andrew,"  he  said 
kindly,  "  that  doubts  have  been  for  many 
years  stirring  in  my  mind  regarding  my 
father's  sanity  when  he  made  his  will.  It 
was  very  unusual,  you  know,  very  extraor- 
dinary. I  thought  that  if  you  had  anything 
of  importance  to  tell  me,  I  could  make  it 
worth  your  while." 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     223 

"  I  guess  that  air  will  wnz  all  right,"  said 
Andrew  Lane,  going  back  to  his  work,  and 
Uncle  Peter  strode  away  in  helpless  rage. 

It  was  partly  his  rebuff  at  the  hands  of  a 
menial,  partly  a  memory  of  the  fresh  inter- 
est in  Alec  Bevanne's  eyes  when  the  money 
trouble  had  been  suggested  to  him,  that 
drove  Uncle  Peter  to  seek  the  companion- 
ship and  the  sympathy  of  his  young  neigh- 
bor frequently  during  the  days  that  followed. 
Walking  by  shore  or  lane,  they  often  met 
by  accident,  and  there  was  a  gate  near  the 
Bevanne  homestead  by  which  the  old  man 
sometimes  went  to  stand  at  sunset.  Seeing 
him  there,  the  young  professor  would  stroll 
out  good-naturedly  to  meet  him,  and  a  long 
conversation  would  ensue.  It  was  wonder- 
ful, Uncle  Peter  reflected,  how  many  tastes 
they  had  in  common,  despite  the  disparity 
of  their  ages ;  he  had  not  supposed  that 
there  were  any  longer  in  a  degenerate  world 
young  men  as  nice  as  this.  The  same  books, 
especially  books  of  poetry,  seemed  to  appeal 


224 


to  them  both ;  they  shared  the  same  senti- 
ments concerning  nature,  and  were  as  one 
man  when  they  talked  of  Frances  Wilmot. 
Uncle  Peter  needed  no  one  to  tell  him  how 
thirstily  Alec  Bevanne  drank  in  all  he  had 
to  say  of  her,  and  he  took  delight  in  repeat- 
ing what  she  had  said  on  this  day  or  that 
while  visiting  Mrs.  Warren,  in  telling  what 
she  had  worn.  Many  of  his  descriptions  were 
of  a  high  order  of  antiquated  literary  merit. 
When  gloomier  themes  presented  them- 
selves, he  found  in  this  young  man  almost 
the  same  interested  courtesy  that  he  found 
when  speaking  of  woman,  wine,  and  verse ; 
and  the  words  of  encouragement  were  balm 
to  a  wounded  heart.  This  charming  neigh- 
bor could  hardly  be  more  interested  in  the 
situation  if  it  were  one  involving  his  own 
interests,  Uncle  Peter  thought  warmly.  His 
appreciation  was  delicate,  —  his  sympathy 
kindly  as  it  was  rare. 

Half  thoughtlessly  the  young  man  drew 
the  old  one  out.    It  was  great  fun  to  hear 


him  talk  :  nothing  so  interesting,  so  many- 
sided,  and,  withal,  so  futile,  in  the  way  of 
personality  had  presented  itself  for  a  long 
time.  Uncle  Peter's  very  vocabulary  had  a 
charm  about  it,  with  its  quaint  polysyllables ; 
and  his  airy  fancies  and  theories,  his  way  of 
covering  any  plain  situation  or  object  with 
a  dusky  mist  of  his  own  morbid  thought,  pre- 
sented constantly  varying  entertainment  to 
the  student  of  books  and  of  human  nature. 
The  fixed  idea,  as  it  grounded  itself  more 
and  more  strongly  in  Uncle  Peter's  mind,  be- 
gan to  suggest  to  Alec  Bevanne  something 
more  than  mere  entertainment.  Might  there 
not  be  truth  in  the  suspicion  of  wrong-doing 
somewhere  ?  The  situation  was  a  strange 
one,  and  the  old  man  had  undoubtedly  been 
deprived  of  that  which,  in  the  usual  course 
of  things,  would  have  been  his.  An  unformu- 
lated  thought  that  anything  meaning  misfor- 
tune to  Paul  Warren,  who  could  almost  daily 
see  this  one  woman  of  all  the  world  and  hear 
her  speak,  would  not  come  amiss,  lurked 


S26      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

low  down  in  Alec-  Bevanne's  mind.  He 
encouraged  Uncle  Peter,  clapped  him  in 
friendly  wise  upon  the  back,  and  told  him  to 
go  on  and  claim  his  own.  It  was  but  justice 
that  he  wanted ;  no  one  could  blame  him  for 
demanding  that.  At  least  he  should  consult  a 
lawyer,  the  very  best  that  could  be  found.  As 
the  old  man  drank  hope  and  inspiration  from 
the  cheery  words  and  smile,  his  manner  grew 
more  and  more  distant  when  he  spoke  to  his 
nephew.  If  not  actually  a  villain,  Paul  was 
apparently  the  son  of  a  villain,  and  no  one 
knew  better  than  Uncle  Peter  the  compelling 
nature  of  hereditary  impulse. 

As  the  days  went  on,  the  old  man  grew 
more  and  more  restless,  smoked  less,  and 
lingered  longer  at  the  sideboard ;  and  the 
name  of  great-great-grandfather  Warren  was 
oftener  than  ever  on  his  lips.  Then  came  a 
morning  when  he  did  not  appear  at  break- 
fast, and  news  was  brought  that  he  could  not 
be  found.  His  bed  had  not  been  used ;  vari- 
ous toilet  articles  and  pieces  of  clothing  had 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE     227 

been  taken  from  the  room  ;  and  in  the  deep 
dust  of  the  road  prints  of  foolish  pointed- 
toed  shoes  led  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
railway  station.  Had  anything  of  the  kind 
ever  occurred  before,  Paul  asked  his  mother 
as  he  ate  a  hasty  breakfast,  conscious  that 
steps  must  be  taken  at  once  to  bring  the  fu- 
gitive back,  but  sorely  at  a  loss  to  know  the 
wisest  way  of  beginning.  Once  or  twice,  Mrs. 
Warren  answered,  he  had  disappeared  with- 
out warning,  but  it  had  always  made  Paul's 
father  uneasy.  Now  Uncle  Peter  was  too  old 
to  be  trusted  alone ;  he  had  probably  gone 
to  Boston,  and  Paul  must  follow  as  soon  as 
possible. 

The  day  after  the  disappearance,  while 
Paul  Warren  was  searching  hotel  registers 
and  watching  on  street  corners,  Alec  Bevanne 
drove  gayly  up  to  the  Warren  homestead 
with  Uncle  Peter  beside  him  in  the  light  car- 
riage. He  came  in  to  make  a  call  on  Mrs. 
Warren,  while  Uncle  Peter  removed  the  dust 
of  travel  upstairs. 


828      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

"  We  happened  to  meet,"  he  said  confi- 
dentially to  his  hostess.  "  I  was  not  sure  that 
Mr.  Warren  could  make  his  way  among  the 
crowds,  so  I  kept  an  eye  on  him,  and  he  fell 
in  gladly  with  my  suggestion  that  we  should 
come  home  together." 

"  That  young  Mr.  Bevanne  is  a  person  of 
most  delicate  courtesy,  Paul,"  said  Mrs.  War- 
ren, when  her  son,  hot,  tired,  and  vexed,  re- 
turned in  answer  to  her  telegram.  "  He  could 
not  have  been  more  considerate." 

Paul  added  his  thanks  to  his  mother's  when 
an  opportunity  came,  wondering,  meanwhile, 
how  he  could  be  base  enough  to  suspect  that 
the  obliging  young  neighbor  had  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  departure  as  well  as 
with  the  return,  yet  irresistibly  drawn  to 
that  conclusion  by  the  old  man's  dark  hints. 
Uncle  Peter  had  come  back  from  his  escapade 
with  an  exasperating  air  of  having  accom- 
plished something,  and  he  went  about  cheer- 
fully humming  bits  of  song :  as  he  himself 
expressed  it,  the  ancestor  poetess  was  upper- 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE      229 

most  in  him  now.  He  vouchsafed  no  real  ex- 
planation of  his  absence,  merely  remarking 
that  he  had  had  business  in  the  city,  and  he 
dwelt  much  upon  the  attractions  of  his  friend, 
Alec  Bevanne,  who  had  been  of  real  service 
to  him. 

It  was  half  in  good  nature,  half  in  malice, 
that  this  young  man  spread  abroad  his  know- 
ledge of  Uncle  Peter  and  of  the  revelations 
that  had  come  through  him.  Alec  liked  to 
share  good  things  with  appreciative  listeners, 
and  his  mother  and  Alice  were  entertained, 
sometimes  against  their  will,  with  bits  of  the 
Warren  family  history.  Even  the  loungers 
about  the  post-office  at  Wahonet  heard  bits 
of  gossip  that  had  a  relish  for  their  ears,  for 
the  Warrens  were  no  great  favorites  with  the 
idlers  at  open  doors. 

"Mas'r  Paul,"  said  Aunt  Belinda  one 
morning  as  she  brought  in  a  plate  of  hot 
waffles  to  set  before  her  young  master, 
"  what 's  all  this  I  yer  Mas'r  Alec  Bevanne 
tellin'  'bout  you  all  ?  " 


Paul  looked  up  in  wonder. 

"  Dat  low  nigger  dat  works  down  to  the 
Sunny  Beach  House  tole  me  suffin'  'bout  it," 
said  Aunt  Belinda,  with  a  sniff.  "  Says  dey  's 
all  so'ts  of  things  happen  in  de  fam'ly  dat  you 
all  is  'shamed  of.  Now  I  say,  Mas'r  Paul,  dat 
dey  all  wrong.  Like  'nough  yo'  paw  and  yo' 
grandpaw  done  lots  ob  things  to  be  'shamed 
ob,  but  dey  wan 't  'shamed  of  dem!  Dat's 
what  I  tole  dat  low  nigger." 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     231 


XVI 


XT  was  a  bit  of  lovely  pasture  land  beside 
the  sea.  Low  headlands  jutted  out  into  the 
water,  with  soft  hollows  lying  between,  and 
the  bare  look  of  lichen-covered  gray  stone 
and  shorn  green  grass  where  the  herd  was 
grazing  brought  to  Frances  Wilmot  a  sudden 
sense  of  the  unseen  beauty  of  the  shores  of 
Greece.  So  must  the  dun-colored  cows  have 
stood  out  against  a  sky  of  cloudless  blue  in 
the  old  great  days,  and  even  as  now  must 
the  salt,  sweet  breeze  blowing  across  the 
hollow  have  brought  courage  to  hearts  long 
turned  to  dust.  The  still  blue  water  wore  the 
changeless  look  that  it  bears  on  quiet  days 
to  those  who  cannot  see  the  ceaseless  stir 
along  the  beach,  and  swift  passing  beauty 
seemed  fixed  in  an  immortal  moment.  There 
was  no  sound  save  that  of  the  soft  step  of 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

hoofs  upon  the  turf,  and  of  the  cropping 
of  grass.  Noiselessly  one  little  fishing  craft, 
with  sunlight  on  its  white  sail,  and  its  hull 
dark  in  shadow,  crept  down  along  the  shore. 
The  girl  closed  her  eyes  to  feel  the  full  en- 
chantment of  loneliness,  of  silence,  and  of 
the  sea,  opening  them  to  find  all  still  the 
same. 

A  sharp  little  bark  broke  the  stillness : 
looking  up,  she  saw  Robin  Hood,  pausing 
near  her  with  lifted  head  and  the  old  puzzled 
look  in  his  eyes.  What  was  to  be  done  with 
this  intruder  who  was  so  near  his  cows  ?  he 
seemed  to  ask.  She  did  not  call  him  to  her 
where  she  sat  on  a  great  gray  rock  in  a  hol- 
low, with  clustered  low  green  fern  at  her 
feet,  but  watched  as,  with  a  low  growl,  he 
subsided,  seating  himself  not  far  away  with 
his  back  toward  her  and  gazing  into  distance 
or  into  the  past.  If  some  dim  thought  was 
in  his  mind  that  he  must  protect  this  friend 
of  the  house  he  served,  he  was  apparently 
resolved  to  ignore  the  relationship,  lest  she 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

presume.  As  they  waited,  the  light  across 
the  sea  and  in  the  hollows  grew  more  golden, 
and  the  shadow  of  hillock  and  fern-bordered 
rock  crept  farther  across  the  grass.  The  sun- 
set light  falling  on  the  one  white  sail,  and 
turning  water  and  shore  to  deeper  and  ten- 
derer color,  made  her  realize  that  she  had 
spent  the  livelong  afternoon  sitting  with  the 
sunshine  on  her  face,  bookless,  and  with  no 
occupation  save  the  opening  and  the  shutting 
of  her  eyes. 

When  Robin  Hood's  master  strolled  over 
the  hill  she  felt  no  surprise ;  she  knew  that 
this  was  Warren  pasture  land,  and  that  these 
great-eyed  Jersey  cattle  belonged  to  the 
Warren  herd.  Moreover,  at  odd  moments 
in  the  shifting  of  her  dreams,  she  had  been 
thinking  of  this  man.  That  the  result  of  her 
analysis  of  his  character  was  not  entirely 
satisfactory  was  seen  in  the  seriousness  that 
sat  upon  her  brow.  At  first  he  did  not  see 
her ;  the  quick  swing  of  his  step  grew  slower 
as  he  reached  the  top  of  the  headland  and 


284      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

looked  across  the  sea.  What  fresh  sense  was 
in  his  mind  of  the  encompassing  beauty  and 
worth  of  the  world  she  did  not  dream,  but 
he  paused,  glad  of  the  sudden  feeling  that 
the  old  charmed  moments  which  had  come 
to  him  at  rare  intervals  through  the  past 
years  of  his  life  were  hurrying  fast  upon 
one  another  now.  A  sense  as  of  joy  coming 
in  like  the  tide  across  thirsty  sand  was  in 
his  soul,  and  the  ripple  and  swish  of  the 
soft  waves  on  the  beach  below  seemed  to 
be  something  taking  place  inside  him.  He 
clenched  his  hands  for  gladness  at  the  pain 
of  being  born  into  the  world  of  beauty  and 
the  world  of  love.  Ah,  it  was  good,  with  its 
sting,  its  possibilities  of  hurt,  its  certainties 
of  knowing  !  Then,  across  his  sudden  vision 
of  life  glad  and  free  as  on  the  golden  hills, 
yet  fine  and  conscience-guarded,  floated  a 
memory  of  his  mother's  face,  and  with  it  a 
train  of  faces  shadowed  and  sad,  making  him 
aware  of  increased  sensitiveness  to  pain.  The 
walls  of  his  being  had  grown  thinner,  and 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     235 

every  touch  from  outside  meant  the  vibrat- 
ing of  the  soul  within  to  the  sorrow,  the 
hurt,  the  joy  of  the  world.  Full  of  a  new 
conviction  that  it  was  good,  the  groping,  the 
stumbling,  the  finding  of  the  way,  he  turned 
and  saw  before  him  in  reality,  as  she  had 
been  in  vision,  the  woman  whose  face  was 
but  his  old  dream  come  true. 

They  easily  resumed  discussion  as  he 
greeted  her,  for  they  had  fallen  into  a  way 
of  taking  up  without  preamble  the  topic  they 
had  been  considering  the  last  time  when 
interruption  had  come,  and  the  remarks  of 
Monday  were  often  only  the  completion  of 
sentences  left  unfinished  on  Saturday. 

"  They  were  going  to  read  aloud  at  the 
Inn,"  she  explained  presently,  "  and  I  could 
not  stand  it,  so  I  ran  away." 

"  You  rebel  daughter  of  a  rebel  South ! " 
he  answered.  "  Such  opportunities  for  im- 
provement may  never  come  again !  " 

"  I  know  it  S "  she  admitted,  and  their 
laughter  rang  out  through  the  sea  hollows, 


286      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

startling  the  wee  sandpipers  at  the  edge  of 
the  waves. 

"  What  makes  you  look  so  sad  ?  "  asked 
Frances  Wilmot,  for,  even  as  their  mirth 
echoed  back  to  them  from  the  rocks,  the  sha- 
dow of  the  old  days  had  fallen  across  the 
man's  face,  and  that  new  sense  of  assured 
good  that  had  so  lately  filled  him  with  peace 
vanished  in  her  presence,  before  his  know- 
ledge of  his  own  unworthiness,  and  the  cer- 
tainty that  she  could  never  care.  She  was 
quick  to  note  the  look  in  his  deep  eyes,  and 
the  sudden,  sensitive  quiver  of  the  lip. 

"  Nothing  but  destiny,"  he  answered 
lightly. 

"  Please  don't  knock  the  heads  off  those 
ferns,"  said  the  girl,  reaching  to  take  his 
cane  from  him.  "  And  do  not  talk  to  me 
of  destiny!  There  isn't  any  such  thing; 
there  is  nothing  but  the  human  will !  "  She 
shook  her  wind-blown  hair  from  her  face, 
looking,  in  her  joyous  energy,  like  the  in- 
carnation of  the  will  of  which  she  spoke. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     237 

"  You  are  in  a  heroic  mood  to-day." 

She  nodded.  "  The  souls  of  the  heroes 
of  Greece  have  been  flitting  past  me  in  this 
hollow,  and  they  have  left  their  courage  in 
my  soul." 

"  There  were  heroic  Greek  women,  too," 
he  said  idly,  thinking  that,  with  this  stern 
beauty  of  rock  and  shorn  grass  about  her, 
and  with  the  touch  of  severity  upon  her 
brow,  she  might,  save  for  her  modern  dress, 
be  a  bit  of  the  olden  time.  Surely  none 
could  have  had  greater  courage  at  the  hands 
of  fate,  and  he  watched  her,  wondering.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  within  the  shelter  of 
her  soul  she  sat  weaving  pain  and  loss  and 
joy  into  a  web  of  marvelous  beauty  and 
strength. 

"  Why  do  you  go  ?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"  I  can  hardly  claim  a  place  among  your 
heroic  dreams." 

"  Don't  disappear,  Ghost !  Do  you  know, 
I  have  been  thinking  about  you." 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  that  ?  "  he  asked, 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

with  a  shade  of  annoyance  in  his  voice. 
For  some  reason  the  old  jest  was  beginning 
to  jar. 

"  Because  you  are,"  said  Frances  Wilmot 
firmly,  audacious  courage  dancing  in  her 
eyes. 

"  May  I  ask  once  for  all  what  you  mean  ? " 

He  sat  down  on  a  granite  rock  near  by 
and  looked  at  her. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  tell  you  now ; 
you  look  like  a  piece  of  your  New  England 
granite." 

"Go  on ! "  he  commanded,  and  she  obeyed. 

"Because  you  have  dropped  out  of  your 
place  in  the  marching  ranks ;  you  don't 
belong !  You  stand  aside  and  let  it  all  go 
on  without  you ;  I  mean  the  political  life 
of  the  country,  and  all  the  actual  fighting 
with  common  things.  You  are  the  ghost  of 
old  New  England,  and  you  go  off  into  the 
corner  and  associate  with  yourself  because 
you  do  not  like  the  kind  of  people  you 
are  thrown  with  if  you  try  to  keep  your 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     239 

hold  on  the  actual.  Ghosts  never  get  their 
fingers  soiled  dealing  with  practical  affairs: 
they  haven't  any  fingers!  They  lead  an 
untroubled  life  apart  among  the  shades." 

"  Do  not  stop ! "  said  Paul  serenely.  "  Your 
eloquence  makes  me  think  that  you  have 
thought  the  matter  out  rather  thoroughly." 

Meanwhile,  in  the  heart  of  the  man,  sang 
Love,  in  its  undreamed  strength  :  — 

"/  can  do  all  things :  act,  endure,  achieve.1' 

"  Who  has  your  father's  seat  in  the  legis- 
lature ?  "  she  demanded,  her  cheeks  flaming 
with  sudden  red. 

"  An  Irishman  from  County  Down,"  an- 
swered the  young  man,  "  a  very  interesting 
personage,  who,  from  the  possession  of  a 
cow,  and  two  shock-headed  little  barefooted 
girls,  has  risen  in  an  incredibly  short  space 
of  time  to  be  owner  of  a  feudal  castle  on  the 
rocks,  and  two  elegant  daughters  in  a  finish- 
ing school.  You  would  not  check  the  march 
of  progress  in  our  country,  would  you,  or 
blame  me  if  my  intellectual  powers  are  not 


240      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

so  much  to  the  taste  of  my  countrymen  as 
are  those  of  the  gentleman  from  County 
Down?" 

"  You  are  only  making  fun/'  said  the  girl, 
<(  and  I  am  in  deadly  earnest." 

"  I  had  not  credited  you  with  such  fiery 
patriotism,"  he  remarked.  "  Your  gift  had 
seemed  rather  poetic  than  practical." 

"  But  it  seems  to  me  that  every  human 
being,  man  or  woman,  should  have  a  sense 
of  duty  about  matters  of  every  day." 

"  I  recall  some  sentiments  of  the  kind 
myself,  I  think,  from  the  copybook." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  only  to  the  very  great  that 
the  platitudes  of  life  are  not  platitudes,"  she 
flashed  back,  and  he  forgot  his  rising  indig- 
nation in  pleasure  at  the  quickness  of  her 
retort.  Again  their  laughter  echoed  between 
the  hills,  and  her  exhortation  took  a  merrier 
tone. 

"  Oh,  I  've  watched  you,  and  other  civil- 
ized men  who  are  like  you.  The  tide  of  life 
has  left  you  stranded  high  and  dry  on  your 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE      241 

ideals ;  it  is  an  ideal  that  has  n't  any  hold 
on  the  real.  You  stay  ghosts  because  you 
are  too  scrupulous  to  live,  and  you  associate 
in  dim  corners  with  the  spirits  of  Winthrop 
and  Endicott,  Sumner  and  Phillips,  ignor- 
ing the  common  people  who  need  you.  It 
is  the  very  depth  and  strength  of  your  na- 
ture which  is  keeping  you  from  being  of 
use." 

"  You  must  remember,"  he  said  lightly, 
"  that  the  making  of  the  Great  Refusal  has 
grown  to  be>  a  family  habit." 

"But  that  is  past,"  sang  Love  silently, 
"past  and  forgotten  forever." 

"  It  does  n't  do  any  good  to  talk  to  you  ! " 
said  the  girl,  smiling.  "  I  pierce  you  through 
with  winged  words  and  you  part  like  a  fog, 
meeting  on  the  other  side.  There  is  n't  any 
weapon  that  can  wound  a  —  mist !  " 

"  Would  you  mind  suggesting  some  of  the 
details  of  your  plan  for  me  ?  " 

"I  haven't  made  any  plan,"  she  con- 
fessed. "  You  certainly  ought  not  to  give 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

up  writing,  but  I  think  you  need  a  grip  on 
actual  life  and  difficulties.  I  should  like  to 
see  you  wrest  your  father's  place  from  the 
Irishman  from  County  Down ;  I  should  like 
to  hear  your  name  associated  with  some 
great  thing  to  be  done,  and  to  see  you  fight- 
ing, fighting,  fighting,  like  Achilles." 

"  I  am  quite  ready,"  he  said,  smiling, 
"  even  to  be  dragged  by  the  hair  round  the 
walls  of  Washington,  but  there  are  practi- 
cal difficulties  in  the  way,  of  which,  appar- 
ently, you  are  not  aware.  I  confess  that 
I  have  scruples,  for  instance  about  buying 
votes,  which  are  not  shared  by  the  gentle- 
man from  County  Down." 

Frances  Wilmot  looked  at  him  with  a 
swiftly  changing  face. 

"  I  shall  say  nothing  more,"  she  declared. 
"  I  was  trying  to  make  you  angry,  and  you 
sit  there  and  look  at  me  as  a  St.  Bernard 
dog  looks  at  a  fox  terrier  puppy  that  is 
playing  with  his  paws !  " 

As  he  looked  at  her  his  face  was  a  mask 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     243 

hiding  the  tumult  of  his  soul.  With  her 
shyness  and  her  daring,  her  lofty  sureness 
of  the  goal  and  her  airy  ignoring  of  the 
path  by  which  to  reach  it,  was  she  not  a 
very  woman  ?  His  leader  one  minute,  she 
lingered  the  next  for  his  guiding  hand,  and 
he  watched  her  flushed  face  and  dimmed 
dark  eyes,  pondering  on  the  difference  be- 
tween his  old  dull  pain  of  brooding  thought 
and  this  new  joyous  pain  of  being  alive. 

"  Grant  deeper  hurt"  pleaded  Love  in  his 
inmost  heart,  "and  keener  sting,  for  in  it 
comes  the  very  life  of  life." 

A  long  call  sounded  from  the  brow  of 
the  hill ;  it  was  the  voice  of  Andrew  Lane, 
who  had  come  to  bring  home  the  cows.  At 
his  yodel  they  lifted  their  heads,  one  after 
another,  gazed  meekly  at  him,  then  went 
back  to  the  soft,  sweet  grass,  grazing  as  if 
they  had  heard  nothing.  The  cry  had  roused 
Robin  Hood,  and  he  made  one  brave  dash 
after  the  herd,  with  all  his  old  spirit  come 
back  to  him  for  a  moment. 


244      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

"  After  'em,  Robin !  Bring  'em  up !  Fetch 
'em  in ! "  cried  Andrew,  who  stood  now  at 
the  top  of  the  hill,  silhouetted  in  blue  over- 
alls and  yellow  straw  hat  against  the  flush- 
ing sunset  sky. 

Robin  started  to  round  in  the  herd  in  his 
old,  skillful,  collie  way,  then  stopped,  wag- 
ging his  tail  uncertainly,  as  if  in  doubt  of 
his  exact  duty.  Andrew  gave  again  a  sharp 
word  of  command,  and  the  old  dog  sprang 
forward  with  a  joyous  bark  to  the  very  cen- 
tre of  the  herd,  scattering  the  cattle  this 
way  and  that,  and  then  stood  quivering,  un- 
sure of  his  own  purpose.  One  dun-colored 
cow  lowered  her  horns,  and  a  yearling  heifer 
kicked  out  gayly  at  him,  but  he  did  not 
flinch,  only  waited  with  wistful  eyes  and 
pleading  tail  for  a  word  of  command  that 
he  could  believe. 

The  two  who  watched  from  the  rocks  in 
the  hollow  glanced  at  each  other  with  one  of 
those  looks  of  complete  understanding  that 
lie  somewhere  below  speech. 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

"  My  difficulty  is  plainly  like  Robin's,"  said 
Paul  Warren,  with  the  old,  ironic  smile,  "  a 
paralyzing  consciousness  of  undiscoverable 
duty.  He  is  waiting  for  the  right  voice,  my 
father's,  and  it  never  comes." 

Here  the  dog  made  another  sudden  dash, 
barking  at  the  heads  of  the  bewildered  ani- 
mals, and,  in  confusion,  they  stampeded,  run- 
ning this  way  and  that  over  gray  rock  and 
tangled  blackberry  vines,  and  ferns  that  gave 
out  a  pungent  odor  as  they  were  broken  and 
trodden  under  foot. 

"  No,  it  is  I  who  am  like  Robin,"  said  the 
girl,  a  sad  mischievousness  coming  into  her 
eyes.  "  That  is  just  the  way  I  dash  at  things, 
woman-like,  without  knowing  anything 
about  them.  I  regret,  Mr.  Warren,  that  I 
have  been  trying  to  teach  you  out  of  the 
depth  of  my  ignorance,  and  I  freely  confess 
that  I  have  been  —  pardon  me  —  barking  at 
your  head ! " 

So  she  turned  and  left  him,  and  he  watched 
her  as  she  climbed  the  rocky  headland,  stood 


246      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

outlined  a  minute  against  the  gold  flush  of 
the  sky  and  the  answering  flush  of  the  sea, 
then  wandered  the  way  of  the  moorland  road 
that  curled,  grass-grown  and  beautiful,  along 
the  heights.  Robin  Hood  came  back  and 
stood  near  his  master,  trying  with  dumb, 
eloquent  eyes  to  explain,  and  permitting  a 
single  caress. 

"  You  and  I  are  rather  badly  off,  old  fel- 
low," said  Paul  Warren.  "  You  have  lost  your 
guiding  voice  forever,  and  I  have  found  mine 
only  to  realize  that  I  may  not  have  it." 

Musing,  he  paced  the  high,  tangled  cliff 
road  that  the  girl  had  followed.  She  was  a 
thing  of  fire  and  flame,  with  beauty  of  face 
and  of  soul  flashing  out  opalwise  through 
constant  change.  He  might  see  it,  as  he  saw 
the  glory  of  sunset,  but  he  could  not  keep 
it ;  and  would  not  the  inevitable  swift-com- 
ing gray  be  all  the  more  dreary  because  of 
the  vanished  gold?  But,  as  he  swung  on 
his  homeward  way  in  the  cool  air,  the  en- 
compassing rhythm  of  the  sea  got  into  his 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     247 

long  stride,  and  across  the  discords  of  his  life 
he  seemed  to  hear,  as  he  would  hear  forever 
after  she  was  gone,  the  melody  of  hers,  where 
some  sweet  spirit  played,  touching  all  the 
strings  to  music. 


248      THE  COMING    OF  THE    TIDE 


XVII 


J_T  was  the  woman  who  began  it.  Down  the 
garden  paths  and  over  the  narrow  space  of 
rock  and  of  sand  that  separated  the  flowers 
from  the  sea,  she  fled  precipitately  with  wind- 
blown hair  and  skirts  in  which  the  breeze 
fluttered  in  joy  of  the  chase.  On  the  tiny 
beach  within  the  cove  she  waited  expectantly 
by  the  dory  which  was  pulled  up  on  the  sand, 
and  she  looked  out  wistfully  to  the  Sea  Gull, 
which  was  rocking  gently  up  and  down  upon 
the  waves.  The  man  who  followed  her  tacitly 
did  her  bidding,  though  not  a  word  was 
spoken  as  the  dory  was  launched  and  rowed 
out  over  the  water  to  the  little  sailing  ves- 
sel. With  white  sail  set  they  glided  noise- 
lessly out  to  the  wide  sea,  the  woman  at  the 
helm,  the  man  whistling  as  he  ran  up  the 

jib. 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE     249 

"  You  are  running  away,"  said  Frances 
Wilmot  suddenly,  as  the  spray  from  a  wave 
met  aslant  glistened  on  forehead  and  cheek. 

"  I  am  glad,"  rejoined  Paul  Warren  gently, 
"  to  place  my  one  talent  at  your  service." 

"  Your  talent  for  sailing  a  boat  ?  I  have 
often  admired  it." 

"  The  one  talent  which  you  attribute  to 
me,  that  for  running  away." 

"Do  you  think  it  really  matters  if  we 
go  ?  "  asked  the  woman,  changing  the  sub- 
ject. 

"  This  is  the  game  of  '  follow  my  leader  ; ' 
I  am  doing  your  bidding,"  answered  Paul, 
shaking  out  the  reef  as  he  spread  the  last 
inch  of  sail  in  the  dash  for  the  open  sea. 

"  I  did  not  know  the  visitors,"  mused 
Frances  Wilmot. 

"  And  yet  you  knew  enough  to  run 
away  ! " 

"  I  did  not  stop  to  think,"  she  said  peni- 
tently. 

"  That,  I  believe,  is  your  ideal  course  of 


250      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

action,  and  the  one  that  you  constantly  re- 
commend to  me !  " 

"  Let 's  go  back,"  pleaded  the  girl,  half 
letting  go  the  tiller,  so  that  the  vessel  luffed 
and  was  struck  by  an  oncoming  wave. 

"  Look  out !  "  called  the  captain.  "  The 
man  at  the  helm  must  be  sure  of  his  own 
mind,  and  must  abide  the  consequences 
of  his  actions  !  No,  mother  will  have  made 
my » excuses  by  this  time,  and  it  will  only 
complicate  matters  if  we  go  back.  Besides, 
I  promised  to  do  an  errand  for  her  at  Tern 
Island  this  afternoon,  and  we  must  head  for 
that  place  now.  Port  your  helm !  " 

They  sailed  on  in  silence,  over  the  dan- 
cing water,  with  the  sweet,  fresh  wind  in 
their  faces,  and  the  girl  crooned  her  song  of 
the  tide,  while  new  measures  got  into  it  as 
the  green,  surging  waves  mounted  to  meet 
them,  parting  gently  with  loveliest  color  and 
sound  when  the  Sea  Gull  cut  them  through. 
This  beauty,  escaping  through  myriad  full- 
ness, how  could  she  grasp,  how  endure  it  ? 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     251 

Unconsciously  it  had  become  to  her  the 
clearest  symbol  of  that  quick  changefulness 
which  lends  life  significance,  —  infinite  per- 
manence running  through  infinite  change. 

"'The  heart  of  the  great  tides/"  Paul 
Warren  repeated  to  himself,  watching  the 
rhythmic  color  in  her  cheek  and  listening  to 
her  song ;  and,  wind  and  wave  lending  their 
own  courage  to  his  soul,  as  he  took  charge 
of  tiller  and  sheet,  he  laughed  inwardly,  as 
he  had  often  done  of  late,  at  his  passing 
mood  of  causeless  melancholy,  for  the  old 
ghosts  waged  a  losing  fight  against  the 
strength  of  the  sea.  Why  should  he  stand 
apart  or  dream  that  his  lot  should  be  less 
than  that  of  other  men?  Nay,  when  the 
right  moment  came,  he  would  venture  all 
and  try  his  fate,  abiding  gain  or  loss  ;  and  the 
man's  eyes  smiled  gravely  as  Love  touched 
the  will  and  quickened  it  to  faith  and  ac- 
tion. 

Frances  Wilmot,  singing  to  herself  and 
swaying  slightly  to  and  fro  with  the  motion 


252      THE   COMING    OF   THE    TIDE 

of  the  boat,  failed  to  read  the  expression 
of  the  face  whose  reserve  was  a  protecting 
mask.  The  motion  of  the  man's  arms,  his 
skill,  his  masterful  way  of  meeting  difficulty, 
gave  her  to-day,  as  always,  a  thrill  of  de- 
light. Look  and  action  showed  him  to  her 
triumphantly  as  a  leader  of  men,  if  the 
opportunity  for  leadership  could  but  come, 
if  some  great  force  would  but  push  him  into 
the  heart  of  life. 

Then  the  face  of  Alice  Bevanne  floated 
before  her,  and  in  fancy  she  saw  it  as  she 
had  often  seen  it  with  her  eyes,  —  outlined 
against  the  blue  of  sky  and  of  sea,  with  its 
protecting  cloud  of  palest  gold  hair,  —  full 
of  delicate  strength  and  austerity  and  power 
to  endure.  Frances  Wilmot's  breath  came 
quickly  with  a  thought  that  had  often  struck 
her  before :  was  not  the  hidden  fire  of  this 
girl's  nature  all  that  was  needed  to  bring 
the  touch  of  flame  to  the  man's,  who  was  so 
near  akin  to  her  in  soul  ?  Her  shyness  and 
her  unwillingness  to  speak  of  him  had  long 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     253 

ago  betrayed  to  Frances  something  that  she 
was  ashamed  to  know :  Alice  loved  Paul 
Warren,  loved  him  to  the  depths  of  her 
heart,  and  had  betrayed  herself  in  this,  that 
her  look  of  renunciation  was  never  quite  so 
beautiful  or  so  strong  as  when  her  eyes 
rested  on  the  face  of  this  man. 

If  this  might  be,  Frances  prayed  wind 
and  wave,  it  would  mean  to  Paul  Warren 
the  sting  of  love  that  is  salvation ;  and  to 
Alice,  happiness.  The  throb  of  the  girl's 
heart  as  she  thought  of  this  was  half  the 
hope  of  joy  for  her  friend,  half  something 
else.  As  for  herself,  —  there  would  be  left 
wide  skies  and  the  world  of  beauty,  the  gold 
of  sunrise  over  the  free  sea  and  the  sweep 
of  the  tides. 

"  I  wish  that  we  could  have  brought  Miss 
Bevanne;  she  is  a  great  sailor,"  said  Paul 
suddenly,  and  the  girl  started  as  if  he  had 
divined  her  thought. 

"  I  wish  we  had,"  she  answered,  cunningly 
adding  :  "  I  admire  her  more  and  more.  It 


254       THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

has  been  worth  my  pilgrimage  to  the  North 
to  find  a  woman  like  that." 

"  She  is  certainly  a  remarkable  girl,"  as- 
sented Paul  cordially. 

Watching  him  through  keen,  half-closed 
eyes,  Frances  Wilmot  sighed ;  the  power  of 
these  New  Englanders  in  concealing  desir- 
able information  was  indeed  wonderful !  In 
silence  they  sailed  on  for  half  an  hour  more, 
gradually  nearing  a  little  island  whose  gray 
rocks  and  stunted  pines  rose  out  of  the  sea 
with  an  expression  of  primeval  silence  and 
loneliness.  Running  into  a  little  cove  on  a 
sheltered  side  of  the  island,  they  landed  at  a 
tiny  broken  wharf,  and  Paul  Warren  turned 
toward  a  gray,  weatherbeaten  cottage  near 
at  hand. 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  the  girl,  "I  will  climb  the 
rocks." 

Above,  the  ragged  pine  trees  cut  the  blue ; 
beside  the  path  dull  green  juniper  lay  warm 
and  fragrant  in  the  sun,  and  all  was  silence 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE      255 

save  for  the  cry  of  the  white-winged  gulls 
circling  overhead.  Slowly  she  climbed  over 
lichen-grown  rock  and  pebble,  stepping  noise- 
lessly, and  at  the  summit  started  back,  almost 
losing  her  balance,  for  there,  lying  flat  on  the 
short  grass,  was  Alec  Bevanne,  his  arms  flung 
above  his  head,  his  eyes  closed  as  if  in  sleep. 
She  tiptoed  softly  away  over  moss  and  lichen, 
wondering,  from  the  troubled  look  upon  his 
face,  if  anything  were  wrong ;  but  the  break- 
ing of  a  dried  hemlock  twig  under  her  feet 
betrayed  her  presence,  and  he  opened  his 
eyes,  was  dazed  for  a  moment  as  if  unable 
to  distinguish  between  the  sleeping  and  the 
waking  dream,  then  sprang  to  his  feet,  hastily 
brushing  bits  of  moss  and  twig  from  coat  and 
hair. 

"  It  is  odd  that  we  should  meet  here,"  he 
said,  with  a  poor  attempt  at  his  usual  gay 
smile. 

"  I  am  helping  Mr.  Warren  do  an  errand 
for  his  mother,"  she  said  quietly,  noticing 
in  her  companion  an  agitation  that  showed 


256       THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE 

itself  in  nervous  action  of  hand  and  of  foot. 
At  his  invitation  she  seated  herself  on  a  great 
rock,  and  together  they  watched  the  green 
waves  below  rushing  home  to  their  island 
caves,  rippling,  receding,  with  white  foam 
at  the  edge.  Over  the  young  man's  face 
flushed  sudden  color  that  went  as  quickly, 
leaving  pallor  behind ;  the  woman  saw  too 
late. 

"  I  cannot  help  it/'  the  words  came  burst- 
ing forth  as  if  it  were  beyond  his  power  to 
stay  them ;  "  I  must  speak,  for  I  was  think- 
ing of  you,  —  I  think  of  nothing  but  you,  — 
and  then  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  you  stood 
before  me  as  if  you  had  come  in  answer  to 
my  call." 

She  raised  a  warning  hand,  and,  as  she  did 
so,  noticed  that  his  bloodshot  eyes  suggested 
sleepless  nights. 

"  Don't !  "  she  begged  softly. 

"  I  must !  "  he  cried.  "  I  love  you ;  I  know 
that  there  can  be  but  little  hope  for  me,  but 
I  love  you.  You  must  have  seen  it,  and  have 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     257 

known,  for  I  have  betrayed  it  a  thousand 
ways." 

"  I  did  not  know,"  she  said,  her  heart  full 
of  pity  for  one  whose  manhood  seemed 
shaken  by  the  force  of  a  passion  that  raged 
within. 

"  I  know  that  I  may  seem  an  insignificant 
person  in  your  eyes,"  he  went  on  hotly, 
"  but  I  will  work,  I  will  distinguish  my- 
self, I  can,  if  you  will  only  help  me,  and 
then"- 

She  shook  her  head,  and  said  only  the  same 
word,  "  Don't." 

A  little  sandpiper  ran  near  them  on  nimble 
feet,  watching  with  bright,  eager  eyes,  and 
the  measure  of  their  silence  was  the  measure 
of  her  fearlessness  as  she  crept  toward  them. 
Then  the  sandpiper  ran  fluttering  away,  and 
the  sea  gulls  paused  for  an  instant  on  out- 
stretched wings  as  a  storm  of  words  came 
from  the  mouth  of  the  man  on  the  cliff.  The 
two  had  risen  to  their  feet  and  stood  startled, 
defiant,  as  the  woman's  answer  came  :  — 


258      THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

"  Stop  !  What  right  have  you  to  speak 
that  way  ?  " 

Hoarse  as  the  call  of  the  gulls,  and  with 
their  note  of  homelessness,  the  man's  cry 
rang  back :  - 

"  I  tell  you  I  cannot  live  without  you  !  I 
cannot,  I  cannot!  It  is  the  first  time  I  have 
ever  cared,  and  if  there  is  no  hope,  I  will 
throw  myself  from  the  cliff  into  the  water !  " 

Was  it  the  gulls  or  the  waves  or  the 
woman's  voice  that  murmured,  "  Coward  "  ? 
Shame  came  into  the  young  man's  face,  and 
quiet  to  his  voice. 

"No,  do  not  go  away,"  he  begged.  "I 
will  do  nothing,  and  I  much  regret  that  I 
have  frightened  you." 

When  Paul  Warren  joined  them,  startled 
by  the  far  echo  of  Bevanne's  voice,  he  found 
the  two  chattering  about  matters  of  no  con- 
sequence, but  the  strained  look  in  his  young 
neighbor's  face  did  not  escape  Paul  Warren, 
nor  did  the  aimless  movements  of  his  ner- 
vous hands.  Paul  glanced  anxiously  toward 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE      259 

Frances,  divining  the  agitation  of  mood,  but 
the  girl  had  risen  and  was  standing  with  her 
back  to  him,  studying  a  sail  on  the  horizon. 
With  the  elaborate  politeness  which  charac- 
terized all  his  dealings  with  his  neighbor, 
he  entered  into  a  discussion  regarding  the 
management  of  small  craft,  but  his  concealed 
indignation  waxed  hotter  and  more  hot  as 
he  realized  that  some  great  shock  had  come 
to  Frances  Wilmot,  who  still  stood  shading 
her  eyes  with  her  hand  and  gazing  out  to 
sea. 

Half  an  hour  later,  as  the  Sea  Gull  cut 
through  the  waves  toward  sunset  and  toward 
home,  Paul  Warren  kept  a  watch  on  the 
white  sail  ahead  that  dipped  and  rose  lightly 
again  where  Alec  Bevanne's  knockabout,  the 
Rocket,  danced  homeward. 

"  That  is  good  speed,"  he  remarked, "  but 
Bevanne's  a  reckless  sailor.  He  crowds  her 
as  if  he  did  not  care  whether  he  goes  under 
or  not." 

Frances  looked  at  Paul  with  a  sigh  of  deep 


260      THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

relief.  It  was  good  to  rest,  after  that  out- 
burst upon  the  island,  in  the  strength  and 
the  impersonality  of  this  man;  and  good  to 
know,  with  the  memory  of  that  emotional 
fury  in  her  mind,  of  the  reserve  power  and 
self-control  of  which  manhood  was  capable, 
-  though  of  course  Paul  did  not  care  like 
that,  would  never  care  at  all.  She  shivered 
as  the  memory  of  Alec  Bevanne's  face  came 
back  to  her,  marveling  at  the  difference  be- 
tween the  children  of  one  house,  —  the  silent 
strength  of  love  in  the  woman,  the  weakness 
of  love  in  the  man.  And  oh,  the  pity  of  it ! 
How  could  music  be  made  of  this  world,  after 
all,  if  even  the  great  tides  sometimes  went 
astray  ? 

Sunset  glowed  behind  the  pine  trees  in 
the  west  as  they  neared  home ;  it  dyed  the 
waves  with  a  glory  of  color,  crimson  here 
and  gold  beyond ;  it  fell  on  Frances  Wil- 
mot's  hair  and  face,  hiding  the  trouble  in 
her  eyes  from  the  man  who  gazed  upon 
it.  The  moment  which  had  marred  for 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     261 

her  the  melody  in  things  brought  to  him 
stronger  and  stronger  sense  of  the  encom- 
passing rhythm  of  life ;  and  more  and  more 
this  woman  seemed  a  part  of  it,  and  a  part 
of  the  great  sea,  with  its  inexplicable  long- 
ing, its  life,  its  irresistible  advance. 


XVIII 


_l_  BY  it  again,"  suggested  the  friendly  voice 
of  Alec  Bevanne. 

"I  did  try,"  answered  Uncle  Peter  de- 
jectedly, "  and  the  lawyer,  as  you  know, 
would  n't  listen  to  me ;  said  it  was  a  boot- 
less scheme." 

"  Go  to  somebody  here ;  there 's  Marvin 
over  in  the  village." 

The  shadow  deepened  on  the  old  man's 
face. 

"  He  knows  too  much  about  it,"  was  the 
answer.  "  Marvin  was  my  father's  lawyer 
and  John's." 

"  Then  he  's  just  the  man  !  "  cried  Alec, 
slapping  Uncle  Peter's  shoulder.  "  Face 
him  and  get  the  truth  out  of  him." 

There  was  a  somewhat  pathetic  hilarity 
in  Alec  Bevanne's  manner,  and  the  flicker- 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     263 

ing  glance  of  his  restless  eye  showed  eager 
search  for  amusement.  The  two  were  stroll- 
ing up  and  down  a  grass-grown,  neglected 
lane  back  of  the  Bevanne  house,  the  elder 
man  with  difficulty  keeping  the  pace  of  his 
companion's  long,  nervous  strides.  The  half- 
suppressed  excitement  of  the  latter's  man- 
ner showed  most  clearly  in  the  savage  at- 
tacks of  his  light  cane  on  milkweed  pods, 
whose  down  he  sent  floating  hither  and  yon 
in  the  still  summer  air. 

"  Go  in  for  your  rights,"  pursued  Alec 
vehemently,  after  waiting  in  vain  for  an 
answer.  "  If  John  Warren  took  your  inher- 
itance" 

"  Hush,"  whispered  Uncle  Peter,  with  a 
sudden  clutch  upon  his  companion's  arm : 
"  there  's  Paul !  " 

Yes,  there  was  Paul,  striding  through  an 
idjacent  field  with  Robin  at  his  heels,  a  look 
)f  fine  contempt  upon  his  face.  Uncle  Peter 
pondered,  with  a  thrill  of  something  akin 
to  fear,  how  much  he  had  heard,  but  Alec 


Bevanne  only  smiled.  This  unexpected  en- 
counter made  matters  all  the  more  interest- 
ing at  a  moment  when  he  was  sorely  in  need 
of  amusement,  and  a  little  surface  annoyance 
to  the  son  of  his  father's  old  enemy  would 
do  no  harm.  From  all  that  could  be  found 
out  concerning  the  long  family  quarrel,  the 
Bevannes  were  greatly  in  arrears  in  the  mat- 
ter of  paying  old  grudges ;  and  already  Alec 
half  divined  that  in  his  thwarted  love  another 
injury  had  been  added  to  the  list. 

Paul  said  no  word,  but  walked  on  as  if  he 
had  neither  seen  nor  heard  the  speakers.  His 
smiling  indifference  toward  Alec  Bevanne 
was  broken  through  at  last,  had  been  broken 
for  some  time,  he  realized,  in  the  hot  indig- 
nation that  the  careless  words  just  overheard 
had  roused.  In  muscle  and  clenched  fist  lin- 
gered a  sense-memory  of  how  it  had  felt  to 
knock  Alec  Bevanne  down  when  they  were 
boys,  and  at  this  moment  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  no  experience  quite  so  satisfactory  had 
come  to  him  since.  His  teeth  were  set  closely 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     265 

together  in  wrath,  wrath  at  this  young  man 
for  his  lack  of  chivalry  toward  a  helpless  old 
one.  Gray  hairs  and  foolishness  combined 
should  command  at  least  pity,  and  Alec  Be- 
vanne  was  well  aware  that  in  Uncle  Peter's 
mind,  where  nothing  was  really  wrong,  no- 
thing had  ever  been  quite  right. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  mischievous  advice 
of  the  young  professor  had  taken  effect,  and 
by  the  shore  path  over  headland  and  sandy 
beach,  in  the  clear  August  weather,  strode 
Uncle  Peter,  an  Uncle  Peter  no  longer  smil- 
ing, chattering,  debonair,  but  militant,  a  man 
of  purpose  and  of  action,  the  fixed  idea  in  his 
mind  not  now  a  subject  of  brooding  thought, 
but  the  nerve  and  soul  of  the  most  eventful 
resolve  in  the  man's  whole  life.  Outside  help 
had  failed.  Old  Andrew  Lane  was  worse  than 
useless  in  giving  evidence  that  might  lead  to 
legitimate  disputing  of  wills ;  Alec  Bevanne, 
with  all  the  moral  encouragement  he  had 
given,  was  not  in  a  position  to  afford  prac- 
tical assistance:  to  Uncle  Peter  it  seemed 


266      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

that  the  moment  had  come  for  his  inner  self 
to  rise  to  heroic  action;  man  nor  circum- 
stance could  help  him,  —  he  would  help  him- 
self. 

He  was  taking  the  long  path  by  the  shore 
of  Wahonet  in  order  to  have  time  to  calm 
himself ;  solitude  and  the  fresh  sea  breeze, 
he  instinctively  felt,  would  help  nerve  him 
to  action.  He  walked  with  a  long,  slow  stride, 
his  slender  frame  tense  with  the  tremulous 
energy  of  the  man  of  dreams  when  sum- 
moned to  unaccustomed  deed.  He  must  be 
firm,  the  shaking  hand  kept  reminding  the 
bamboo  cane  which  trembled  in  sympathy; 
he  must  be  firm. 

There  was  cold  perspiration  on  his  brow 
under  the  protecting  brim  of  the  Panama 
hat  when  at  last  he  walked  into  Wahonet, 
pausing  by  an  old-fashioned  brick  house 
whose  white  wooden  doorway  bore  the  sign : 
"Abel  Marvin,  Attorney  at  Law."  Uncle 
Peter's  final  summoning  of  all  his  resolution 
lent  new  wavering  motions  to  his  legs  as  he 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     267 

mounted  the  stone  steps  and  rang  the  door- 
bell. He  was  ushered  into  a  room  bright 
with  red  ingrain  carpet,  silk  patchwork 
cushions,  and  chromos;  and  here  he  found 
a  little,  bent,  old  man,  whose  snow-white 
hair  and  colorless  face  lent  added  fire  and 
expression  to  a  pair  of  still  brilliant  dark 
eyes. 

"  Take  a  chair,"  said  Abel  Marvin,  with- 
out rising.  "  Business,  eh  ?  Come  to  make 
your  will  ?  " 

Uncle  Peter  shook  his  head,  slowly,  por- 
tentously. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  and,  for  almost  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  did  not  know  what  to 
say  next. 

"  Take  your  time,"  said  the  old  lawyer, 
after  a  pause. 

"  Mr.  Marvin,"  said  Uncle  Peter,  with  a 
great  leap  of  moral  courage,  "you  did  my 
father's  business  for  him  the  better  part  of 
bis  life,  did  n't  you?" 

"  I  believe  I  helped  transact  the  law  busi- 


268      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

ness  of  James  Francis  Warren  for  over  thirty 
years,"  was  the  answer. 

"  And  you  drew  up  his  will  ? " 

The  sharp,  deep-set  eyes  looked  out  quiz- 
zically from  under  the  shaggy  white  brows. 

"  I  believe  I  did." 

"  Did  it  strike  you  at  the  time  that  there 
was  anything  curious  about  it  ?." 

"  I  don't  recall  that  it  did,"  answered  the 
old  man.  "  I  presume  I  was  more  taken  up 
in  those  days  with  getting  things  done  than 
with  thinking  about  their  being  strange." 

Uncle  Peter  was  seated  now  in  an  arm- 
chair upholstered  in  stamped  red  velvet,  and 
he  leaned  his  chin  upon  his  cane,  which  he 
held  between  his  knees.  Thus  supported  he 
continued  his  attack,  with  a  touch  of  pathos 
in  his  voice. 

;<  My  father  left  the  bulk  of  his  property 
to  my  brother  John." 

"James  Francis  Warren  certainly  be- 
queathed the  major  part  of  his  effects  to 
John  Warren,"  said  Abel  Marvin. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     269 

"  Yet  I  was  the  older,  and  it  was  certainly 
unfair." 

"  Some  people,"  drawled  the  old  lawyer, 
''have  an  aggravating  way  of  considering 
their  own  property  their  own.  I  s'pose  that 's 
the  way  it  was  in  this  case." 

"  It  was  unjust,  and  you  know  it,"  said 
Uncle  Peter,  with  a  sudden  access  of  fiery 
courage ;  but  Abel  Marvin  merely  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

"  There  has  been  something  strange  in 
the  whole  history;  I  realize  it  more  and 
more  clearly  as  I  grow  older,"  sternly  pur- 
sued Uncle  Peter,  feeling  that  this  officer  of 
the  law  was  quailing  before  him.  "  Unless  I 
am  mistaken,  you  are  the  man  whom  I  re- 
member as  being  with  my  father  in  his  li- 
brary on  one  of  the  occasions  that  now  come 
back  to  me  as  proofs  of  my  suspicion.  I 
refer  to  the  time  when  my  brother  John  was 
born." 

The  old  lawyer  started,  and  the  eyebrows 
hung  lower  over  the  gleaming  dark  eyes. 


270      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  If  you  recall  the  time,"  said  Uncle  Peter, 

—  the  bamboo  cane  bending  under  the  sud- 
den  demands   upon  it  for   moral   support, 

—  "  can  you  remember  whether  I  was  the 
person  alluded  to  when  a  remark  was  made 
about  the  arrangement  being  bad  for  some 
one  ?  " 

"  I  recall  the  circumstance  perfectly,  and 
I  believe  you  were,"  answered  the  lawyer 
dryly. 

"  My  father's  will  was  made  that  day  ?  " 

"It  was." 

"And  never  changed  ?  " 

"And  never  changed." 

The  two  men  eyed  each  other  across  the 
marble-topped  table  for  a  few  seconds'  space. 

"  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  tell  you,"  said  Uncle 
Peter,  clearing  his  throat,  "  that  I  am  about 
to  dispute  that  will." 

The  dark  old  eyes  were  all  attention,  but 
the  lawyer  was  silent. 

"I  —  I  have  resolved  to  make  an  attempt 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE    271 

to  recover  my  rightful  property,"  asserted 
the  visitor  tremulously,  his  pale  blue  eyes 
attempting  to  give  back  bravely  the  stare 
of  the  black  ones. 

"  You  '11  be  a  fool  if  you  do,"  snapped  the 
lawyer. 

The  dignity  of  Uncle  Peter's  grand  man- 
ner was  the  only  response.  He  waited  long 
until  his  companion  spoke  again. 

"  Mr.  Warren,  is  it  your  purpose  to  carry 
out  this  ridiculous  project  ?  " 

"  It  is,"  answered  Uncle  Peter  majesti- 
cally. 

"  Then,"  said  Abel  Marvin,  "  if  you  will 
stop  a  minute,  I  will  tell  you  something 
which  I  should  have  been  glad  to  keep  from 
you,  but  which  it  seems  my  duty  to  let  you 
know." 

"  Tell  on,"  glowered  Uncle  Peter. 

"  I  regret  that  you  have  made  it  neces- 
sary," said  the  old  lawyer,  speaking  pain- 
fully, "  but  I  have  always  had  a  great  regard 
for  the  Warren  family,  and  am  sorry  to  see 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

annoyance  coming  upon  it.  Of  course  you 
could  accomplish  nothing,  and  for  your  own 
sake,  Mr.  Warren,  I  make  a  last  appeal :  give 
up  your  foolish  plan." 

"  I  will  not ! "  cried  Uncle  Peter  trium- 
phantly. "  I  always  knew  that  something 
was  wrong,  that  there  was  a  secret  some- 
where. Now  I  shall  find  it  out  at  last." 

"  There  was  a  secret,"  admitted  Abel  Mar- 
vin, "  about  you.  I  am  especially  sorry  to  tell 
it  to  you,  .for  you  are  the  one  person  who 
will  not  be  able  to  keep  it.  However,  I  shall 
tell  it  to  no  one  else,  and  if  it  becomes 
known  it  will  be  through  no  fault  of  mine. 
Mr.  Peter  Warren,  you  are  no  more  the  son 
of  James  Francis  Warren  than  I  am." 

"  What !  "  stammered  Uncle  Peter. 

"  You  are  no  Warren  :  you  are  an  adopted 
child,  taken  into  the  family  when  you  were 
four  months  old." 

The  bamboo  cane  had  lost  all  strength  of 
purpose  and  was  quivering  pitiably. 

"  It 's  a  lie  !  "  cried  Uncle  Peter,  angrily 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     273 

shaking  the  cane  that  had  deserted  him  in 
his  hour  of  need. 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head,  and  the  very 
accent  of  truth  was  in  the  motion. 

"  What  motive  could  there  have  been  for 
such  an  absurd  action  ? "  asked  the  other, 
with  a  scornful  laugh. 

"  Fear  of  having  no  heir,"  said  Abel  Mar- 
vin. "  Mr.  James  Francis  Warren  was  an 
ambitious  man,  and  his  one  desire  was  to 
build  up  a  great  estate  and  leave  it  to  his 
son.  He  had  been  married  eight  years,  and 
had  no  child  when  he  adopted  you ;  you  were 
brought  here  with  your  parents  from  Ver- 
mont one  spring  when  the  family  came  back 
from  the  city,  where  you  were  supposed  to 
have  been  born.  So  far  as  I  know,  no  human 
being  has  ever  suspected  the  secret,  and  Mr. 
Warren  was  fairly  content  to  hand  down  his 
name  to  you,  when  John  Warren  suddenly 
surprised  everybody  by  making  his  appear- 
ance in  the  world." 

"  It  is  a  story  that  you  are  making  up  to 


274       THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

frighten  me  out  of  my  just  purpose,"  blus- 
tered Uncle  Peter.  "You  have  no  proofs; 
whose  son  am  I,  according  to  your  fairy 
tale?" 

"  You  are  the  oldest  son  of  Andrew  Lane," 
said  the  old  lawyer.  "  Proofs  enough  exist ; 
your  father  has  them  in  his  possession.  I 
naturally  have  none  here,  though  I  have  a 
clear  memory  of  all  that  happened  on  that 
day  when  Mr.  Warren  took  me  into  his  con- 
fidence, the  day  you  have  alluded  to,  when 
you  were  perhaps  five  years  old  and  matters 
had  to  be  readjusted  because  of  John  War- 
ren's birth." 

"  Andrew  Lane  !  "  shouted  Uncle  Peter. 
"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

Abel  Marvin  looked  calmly  out  of  the  win- 
dow. 

"  There 's  my  son,"  he  announced,  "just 
home.  If  you  like,  he  can  drive  us  down  to 
Andrew's,  and  you  can  see  for  yourself." 

"  Does  he  know  ?  " 

"  Nobody  knows,"  repeated  Abel  Marvin  ; 


THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE      275 

"John  Warren  always  supposed  you  to  be 
his  brother,  for  James  Francis  wanted  to 
carry  out  his  original  intention  as  nearly  as 
possible." 

The  cool  drive  down  the  long  country 
road  brought  to  Uncle  Peter  only  a  sickening 
of  the  heart.  It  was  a  drooping  figure  that 
bent  over  the  bamboo  cane  on  the  back  seat 
of  the  light  carriage,  very  different  from  the 
heroic  one  that  had  walked  bravely  along 
the  shore  an  hour  ago. 

Old  Andrew  Lane  was  alone,  sunning  him- 
self on  the  little  front  porch  of  the  house 
where  he  lived  with  his  son  and  his  son's 
wife.  Hollyhock  and  sunflower  grew  by  the 
prim  path  that  led  to  the  green  door  of  the 
old  stone  house,  and  the  stamp  of  homely 
comfort  lay  on  threshold  and  window. 

"  What 's  up  ?  "  asked  Andrew,  as  the  two 
old  men  came  toward  him. 

"  It 's  all  up,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  To  pro- 
tect the  Warren  family  from  annoyance 
I  've  been  obliged  to  tell  Mr.  Peter  here  a 


276       THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

tale  that  he  does  n't  believe.  You  have  the 
documents,  I  believe.  I  should  like  to  have 
him  see  them." 

With  his  clay  pipe  still  in  his  mouth,  old 
Andrew  hobbled  into  an  inner  room,  re- 
appearing presently  with  a  padlocked  tin 
box,  and  with  a  worn  family  Bible. 

"There  you  be,"  he  said,  putting  the  open 
Bible  before  Uncle  Peter,  and  proceeding  to 
open  the  box. 

Uncle  Peter's  eyes  did  him  bad  service, 
but  he  managed  to  read  on  the  stained  yel- 
low page  the  record  of  the  birth  of  a  child 
named  Peter,  on  his  very  birthday,  to  An- 
drew and  Cynthia  Lane,  and  without  a  word 
he  turned  to  the  paper  which  the  gardener 
handed  him.  It  was  a  certificate  of  adoption 
of  a  four  months'  old  child,  called  Peter 
Lane,  by  James  Francis  Warren,  who  bound 
himself,  not  only  to  provide  for  said  child 
for  life,  but  to  support  the  parents,  —  who 
had  moved  to  Wahonet,  —  in  return  for  any 
service  which  they  might  care  to  give,  the 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     277 


support  to  cease  at  any  moment  if  the 
secret  were  not  scrupulously  kept. 

"  Oh !  "  moaned  Uncle  Peter,  convinced 
at  last.  "  It  is  hard ;  it  is  too  hard." 

"  So  your  ma  thought,"  said  old  Andrew 
Lane,  "  'til  Andy  was  born ;  that  comforted 
her  consid'able." 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Warren,"  said  the  lawyer, 
holding  out  his  hand.  "  Keep  the  secret  if 
you  can,  and  as  for  this  afternoon's  business, 
—  well,  perhaps  you  'd  better  quit  reading 
so  many  paper-covered  novels.'* 

Old  Andrew  Lane  went  to  put  away  the 
tin  box,  saying  as  he  did  so,  with  the  slight- 
est quiver  in  the  gruff  voice  :  - 

"I  cal'late  you  won't  want  to  come  to 
live  with  your  folks,  but  if  you  should  need 
to,  some  time,  mebbe,  I  guess  we  can  find 
room." 

Uncle  Peter,  tottering  out  to  the  porch, 
utterly  unable  to  rise  to  the  occasion,  sat 
down  on  an  unpainted  wooden  bench,  with 
sunflower  and  holyhock  swimming  before 


278      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

his  eyes,  and  wept  piteously  for  great-grand- 
mother Anne,  and  the  ancestor-poetess,  and 
even,  in  a  cruel,  belated  sense  of  orphan- 
hood, for  great-great-grandfather  Warren 
and  all  his  sins. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE      279 


XIX 


J_  HE  charm  of  the  road  was  that  it  seemed 
to  lead  nowhere,  only  wandered  incidentally 
whither  it  would,  now  panting  up  a  little 
hill,  now  running  down  to  rest  in  a  hollow, 
now  hiding  in  the  woodland  under  nodding 
branch  and  wind-stirred  leaf,  now  peering 
out  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  sea,  —  a  whimsi- 
cal, irresponsible,  mystical  road,  taking  its 
own  way  to  the  unknown.  The  girl  who 
wandered  lazily  along  it,  in  the  beaten  track 
or  on  the  small,  worn  footpath  through  the 
grass,  was  keeping  time  in  her  imagination 
with  all  the  free  feet  that  had  ever  wan- 
dered that  way.  Here  and  there  she  passed 
a  small  house.  At  one  an  old  man  was  dig- 
ging in  the  garden ;  at  another  a  little  girl 
was  playing  with  her  doll  on  the  doorstep  ; 
in  a  bit  of  pasture  near  another  a  calf  was 


280      THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

frisking  with  joyous  tail ;  at  the  next  an  old 
woman,  calico-clad,  was  hanging  clothes  upon 
a  line.  Frances  Wilmot  wanted  to  stop  with 
them  all  to  do  what  they  were  doing,  and 
then  go  on  and  on.  None  save  the  calf 
seemed  to  share  her  mood,  and  she  pitied 
them  that  they  could  not  follow  her  upon 
the  open  road. 

After  a  quick  run  around  a  sharp  curve 
the  irresponsible  road  suddenly  came  to  a 
crossing,  and  was  brought  face  to  face  with 
the  problem  of  choosing  its  way.  A  sign- 
post stood  there,  turned  all  askew,  "  9  m.  to 
Brentford  "  staring  out  from  a  strip  of  board 
where  a  finger  pointed  heavenward  ;  "4m. 
to  Valley  Cove,"  on  a  strip  pointing  to  earth  ; 
and  "  6  m.  to  Ransom's  Point,"  on  a  strip 
that  pointed  straight  to  a  mossy  stone  fence. 
The  road  seemed  to  evade  any  choice,  and 
the  three  ways  that  led  onward  fled  in  dif- 
ferent directions  from  the  one  by  which  she 
had  come;  and  sunlight  lay  on  them  all, 
grass  grew  green  at  the  edge,  aster  and 


goldenrod  blossomed  impartially  by  the 
crumbling  stone  fences.  What  need  to 
choose  ?  She  started  along  the  road  at  the 
left;  each  led  somewhere,  and  the  guiding 
sea  was  close  at  hand. 

The  road  led  merrily  oft'  past  meadowland 
and  into  a  green  forest,  and  suddenly  joined 
company  with  a  brook,  hurrying  as  if  glad 
of  new  music,  and  as  if  bent  on  seeing 
whether  dust  and  clod  could  not  keep  pace 
with  running  water.  Guarded  by  rock  and 
stone,  and  overhung  by  sunlit  leaves,  the 
stream  glided  on,  falling  here  in  little  silvery 
cascades,  and  gathering  there  into  a  quiet 
pool.  The  air,  soft  with  the  coolness  of  liv- 
ing branches  on  which  the  sun  is  beating, 
was  still  with  the  murmuring  quiet  of  the 
woods.  As  the  girl  followed,  stepping  with 
the  brook,  she  thought  only  of  the  touch  of 
autumn  in  the  new,  sweet  freshness  of  the 
air  on  face  and  wrist  and  throat ;  then, 
emerging  from  the  woodland,  she  realized 
that  her  landmarks  were  gone,  the  village 


282      THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

spire  that  had  often  guided  her  steps  was  no 
longer  in  sight,  and  the  bold  outline  of  the 
Emerson  Inn  on  its  headland  had  disap- 
peared. What  matter,  while  along  this  un- 
known way  vine  and  blossom  lured  her  feet 
to  wander  farther,  and  her  hands  to  gather 
spoils  ? 

It  was  the  time  of  the  glory  of  goldenrod  : 
tall,  starry  clusters  nodded  over  the  stone 
fences;  sword-shaped  stalks  burned  with 
their  rich  color  along  the  highway ;  and 
short,  sunburned  heads  turned  the  pasture 
lands  to  fields  of  gold,  dim  and  beautiful  as 
the  dream  fields  of  the  Islands  of  the  Blest. 
The  girl  filled  her  arms  with  it ;  long  clusters 
nodded  over  her  shoulders,  and  a  great  mass 
glowed  against  the  white  of  her  gown,  and 
against  her  sunburned  cheek.  So  great  a 
burden  was  she  carrying  that  she  grew 
weary,  and,  wondering  where  she  could  stop 
to  rest,  she  found  herself  by  a  little  old  de- 
serted house,  whose  worn  doorstep  invited 
her  to  pause.  By  the  open  door  grew  old 


rose  bushes  where  in  June  ragged  pink  roses 
still  blossomed  upon  ragged  stems ;  through 
the  casements,  from  which  the  windows  had 
disappeared,  curled  and  twined  woodbine  and 
clematis.  Some  woman  who  had  lived  here 
long  ago  had  loved  sweet  things  at  her  win- 
dow, and  had  set  flowers  to  bloom  by  the 
paths  which  her  feet  must  pass.  Grass  cov- 
ered the  little  garden  plot,  and  old  lilac 
bushes  grew  apace  by  the  broken  picket 
fence  and  the  posts  of  the  vanished  gate. 
Empty  and  open  to  sun  and  rain  were  th*e 
bare  rooms  where  woodwork  and  floors  were 
mouldering.  Swallows  had  builded  upon  the 
cornices  of  the  doors,  and  on  the  mantel  in 
the  old  parlor  a  wren  had  made  her  nest. 

Life  and  thought  have  gone  away 

Side  by  side, 
Leaving  doors  and  windows  wide,  — 

Careless  tenants  they. 

Sitting  on  the  step  with  her  head  leaning 
against  the  white  doorpost,  Frances  Wilmot 
half  slept,  while  the  warm  sunshine  of  late 


284      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

afternoon  shone  on  her  face ;  and  she  almost 
heard,  through  the  murmur  of  live  things 
from  the  long  grass  near  by,  the  tread  of  the 
vanished  feet  of  father,  mother,  and  child 
that  had  worn  the  threshold  thin.  Close  by 
a  cricket  chirped  ;  yellow  butterflies,  glad  of 
the  goldenrod  in  her  lap,  fluttered  about  her, 
lighting  on  hair  and  eyelids  of  the  girl  who 
sat  so  still ;  and  home-coming  swallows  circled 
anxiously  near  and  far  again,  troubled  by 
this  motionless  disturber  of  their  domain. 

Here  Paul  Warren  found  her  as  he  was 
sauntering  home  after  a  ten-mile  walk,  and 
he  stopped,  frowning  ;  was  she  safe  in  this 
lonely  spot  ?  As  he  looked,  however,  he  for- 
got to  frown,  —  so  fair  a  picture  she  made 
leaning  there  with  her  long  lashes  dark  upon 
her  cheek,  in  her  bower  of  palest  yellow  and 
deep  Etruscan  gold  ;  there  was  no  doubt  any 
longer  of  Paul  Warren's  sense  of  the  beauty 
of  color.  So  soft  were  his  footsteps  in  the 
rank  grass  outside  the  ruined  picket  fence 
that  she  did  not  hear  him,  and  he  stood  long 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     285 

watching   her.     Presently  she  opened   her 
eyes  and  smiled. 

"  I  wasn't  asleep,"  she  said  sleepily. 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  "  he  asked,  from  the  lilac 
bush  by  the  gatepost. 

"  I  don't  know  what  place  could  be  fitter 
for  a  ghost  than  a  ruined  house,"  said  the 
girl  merrily.    "  Come  in  and  flit  with  the1 
other  shades ;  I  've  heard  them  whispering 
about  me." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  he  remarked,  as  he 
came  slowly  up  the  grass-grown  walk,  "  that 
you  rather  resemble  some  of  the  angels  of 
the  early  Italian  painters,  with  their  shaded 
golden  wings." 

She  looked  reproachfully  at  him. 

"  The  one  thing  that  I  have  liked  about 
you,"  she  said  severely,  "  has  been  that  you 
were  different  from  other  men,  and  did  not 
pay  foolish  compliments." 

"  I  was  not  complimenting  you  ;  perhaps 
I  was  complimenting  the  angels,  for  there 
is  something  in  your  face  that  is  not  in 


886      THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE 

theirs,"  he  said,  looking  gravely  down  at 
her.  She  rose,  shaking  her  head. 

"  You  forget  that  they  all  had  golden  hair ; 
only  witches  and  lady  demons  had  black 
locks  like  mine.  Do  you  dare  go  in  ?  " 

He  pushed  the  sagging  green  door  farther 
open,  and  they  entered  the  old  hall,  with 
footsteps  muffled  by  the  dust  which  lay  thick 
upon  the  floor.  In  the  kitchen  a  tin  mug 
lay  upon  a  broken  stool;  in  the  parlor  a 
chromo  of  "  Hope,"  white-robed  and  staring 
wildly,  hung  upon  the  wall,  and  a  child's  top 
lay  upon  the  floor.  Vines  were  already  grow- 
ing with  fresh  green  tendrils  over  the  crum- 
bling boards,  and  in  one  place,  where  the 
floor  was  broken,  a  great  thistle  had  thrust 
its  way  up  and  had  burst  into  purple  bloom. 

"  Now,"  said  Paul  Warren  softly,  "  you 
look  like  the  spirit  of  Life  itself,  going  with 
golden  torches  through  the  house  of  death." 

Frances  Wilmot  turned  and  faced  him 
with  light  words  that  belied  the  shadowy 
depths  of  her  eyes. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     287 

"  Mr.  Warren,  if  you  are  n't  careful,  you 
will  turn  into  a  poet,  and  that  would  be  a 
most  undeserved  fate  for  a  philosopher !  " 

The  man's  face  quivered  in  the  moted 
sunbeams  that  stole  in  through  the  open 
windows  toward  the  west. 

"  I  have  turned  into  a  lover,"  he  said 
slowly  ;  "  that  is,  perhaps,  the  same  thing." 

For  an  instant  all  that  moved  in  the  room 
was  the  dust  which  the  sunlight  turned  to  a 
golden  cloud  as  it  rose ;  it  could  not  hide  the 
doubt  and  question  and  wonder  in  the  girl's 
eyes. 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  mean  you,"  said  Paul 
Warren.  "  Who  else  is  there  —  in  all  the 
world  ?  " 

The  tense,  white  lips  and  tightly  clenched 
hands  betrayed  how  great  had  been  his  pain 
in  speaking  as  he  had  spoken. 

"  You  knew  that  I  loved  you ;  you  must 
have  known,"  he  said. 

"  I  never  dreamed  it,"  said  the  girl,  with 
a  little  gasp.  "You?" 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

"  Why  not  I  ?  "  he  asked  sternly.  "  You 
have  thought  of  me  as  an  abstraction ;  it  is 
odd  that  I  should  be  compelled  to  tell  you 
that  I  am  a  man !  I  'm  a  thing  of  brawn 
and  muscle  and  of  a  beating  heart,  which  I 
think  is  capable  of  taking  hold  as  far  down 
as  the  heart  can  take  on  human  joy  and 
human  pain.  Your  jest  of  the  ghost  has 
been  a  merry  one,  but  it  is  over  now." 

The  girl's  head  was  bent  in  awe  among 
her  flowers. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  murmured.  "I  should 
not  have  been  so  saucy  if  I  had  known." 

Her  wit  and  her  eloquence  had  deserted 
her ;  she  was  as  the  most  speechless  and 
embarrassed  maiden  who  ever  stood  dumb 
in  Love's  presence. 

"  Perhaps  there  are  different  kinds  of  gray 
webs  to  wear  across  the  eyes,"  he  said, 
smiling. 

"You  —  you  never  betrayed  it,  by  the 
quiver  of  a  muscle,"  she  stammered.  "  I 
should  have  known." 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     289 

"  You  know  the  ordinary  signs  very  well, 
I  presume,"  he  answered.  "  I  never  meant 
to  show  it,  or  to  let  you  know." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked.  The  dusky  eyes  she 
raised  to  him  were  hard  for  the  man  to  read. 
Outside  the  cricket  chirped  loudly  across  the 
silence ;  a  swallow,  entering  through  the  open 
window,  took  fright  at  the  two  motionless 
figures  standing  there,  and  skimmed  away. 

"  What  would  you  think,"  he  asked, 
breathing  with  difficulty,  "  of  the  task  set 
for  a  man  who  was  in  a  wilderness  from 
which  he  could  not  escape,  and  who  heard  a 
voice  calling,  a  voice  that  knew  the  way  of 
his  soul,  and  still  had  to  turn  and  go  away 
from  it  ?  " 

The  girl  looked  on  in  wonder,  watching 
through  the  dust-flecked  sunshine,  and  he 
reached  both  hands  out  toward  her,  then 
drew  them  back. 

"  How  can  I  let  the  shadows  of  my  life 
fall  on  your  face  ? "  he  asked  passionately. 

"  The  shadows   of  your  life ! "  she  said 


290      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

with  reproach.  "  There  are  n't  any.  You 
make  them  up  to  please  your  Puritan  an- 
cestors." 

"  Then  —  will  you  come  ?  " 

She  stepped  lightly  across  the  dusty  floor 
to  the  doorway,  looking  back  from  the 
threshold  to  the  man  who  sadly  followed. 

"  This  means  that  you  will  not  help  me 
build  again  the  ruined  house  of  life  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Frances  Wilmot. 

"  You  who  believe  so  deeply  in  life,  and 
whose  courage  has  so  often  put  me  to 
shame  ?  " 

"  Life,  yes,"  she  answered,  "  but  Love,  — 
that  is  too  great  for  me,  too  terrible,  and  — 
I  am  afraid." 

"Ah,"  he  cried,  "it  is  the  first  thing  in 
life  that  has  made  me  unafraid." 

"  You  are  a  man,"  said  the  girl  simply. 
"  It  shows  the  fundamental  strength  of  you 
from  Adam's  time  on ;  I  am  only  a  woman." 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  "  he  said. 

"  I  can  prattle  about  life,  but  then  I  faint 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     291 

and  fail  when  the  supreme  test  comes.  I 
cannot  let  it  come !  "  and  she  put  out  her 
hands  to  ward  off  Love.  "  I  am  content  with 
the  beauty  of  the  world,  and  the  happiness 
that  lies  behind,  and  the  sorrow  whose  mean- 
ing I  have  n't  half  spelled  out." 

"  Child,"  said  Paul  Warren,  watching  the 
hands  from  which  the  blossoms  dropped  in  a 
golden  shower  on  the  worn  doorstep  and  the 
green  grass,  "  don't  you  see  that  you  are 
half  confessing  that  you  care  ?  " 

"  I  have  n't  confessed  it  to  myself,"  she 
answered  with  brave  lips. 

"  Sit  down  for  a  minute ;  you  are  tired," 
he  commanded,  and  she  did  his  bidding. 

"  You  must  come,  Enchantress,"  he  said, 
from  the  step  at  her  feet.  "  There  are  so  many 
doors  for  you  to  open,  and  none  other  has 
the  key.  You  must  come  to  unwind  for  me 
the  gray  webs  of  many  lives." 

"  That  was  just  nonsense,"  she  murmured. 
"  You  remember  it  ?  " 

"  I  remember  every  word  that  you  have 


spoken,  every  look  that  I  have  seen  upon 
your  face.  Take  me  through  one  of  your 
open  doors,  and  we  will  go  by  wood  and 
stream  and  mountain  till  we  find  your  tree 
of  life,  and  will  nibble  its  leaves  together." 

"  1  did  n't  mean  anything,"  said  the  girl. 
"  I  was  just  teasing  you  because  you  studied 
so  much." 

Before  them  the  sun  was  going  down  in 
deep  August  light  behind  a  row  of  dull  green 
cedars  that  let  the  glory  through;  from  a 
distant  wood  thrushes  sang,  and  the  damp- 
ness of  oncoming  night  crept  to  them  over 
the  grass.  The  woman's  voice  was  broken 
when  she  spoke. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  it  is  I  ?  " 

"I  am  sure,"  he  made  answer,  "  that  you 
are  the  bit  of  my  heart  that  was  lost  when 
it  was  broken,  ages  before  I  was  born ;  now 
that  I  have  found  you  again,  it  will  be 
whole  once  more." 

"I  cannot,"  she  said,  whispering,  "I  can- 
not." 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     293 

When  he  saw  the  suffering  in  her  face,  as 
the  rich  nature  faced  the  challenge  to  keener 
joy  and  keener  pain,  he  spared  her.  Stoop- 
ing, he  gathered  from  the  grass  the  flowers 
that  had  fallen  there,  then  side  by  side  they 
walked  home  in  the  fragrant  dusk,  with  the 
clustered  flowers  shining  out  as  a  light  upon 
their  way.  Silence  enfolded  them,  save  for 
the  sweet  notes  of  nesting  birds,  the  murmur 
of  the  wind-stirred  leaves,  and  the  ripple  of 
a  tiny  brook  over  its  rocky  wayside  bed. 
Before  them  in  the  west  the  slender  crescent 
of  the  new  moon  hung  in  the  quivering  sun- 
set light  of  the  sky. 

"  Like  a  world  of  gold  to  walk  into,"  said 
the  man,  for  his  soul  was  glad  within  him. 
It  was  true  that  this  woman  had  said  him 
nay,  but  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  knew 
better. 


S94      THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE 


XX 


of  them,"  observed  Frances  Wilmot 
to  the  sea,  "  is  like  a  sudden  squall  when 
the  water  is  all  furious,  and  driven  this  way 
and  that ;  the  other  —  the  other  is  like  your 
deepest  deep,  where  dim,  rich  things  lie 
hidden  at  the  heart  of  the  tides.  The  squall 
blows  over  and  the  water  forgets,  but  the 
tide  must  go  endlessly  on  its  appointed  way." 
The  sea  answered  with  all  its  myriad 
beauty  of  motion  and  color  and  sound. 
Across  the  brown  rocks,  purple-tinted  where 
they  gleamed  with  wet,  a  great  green  wave 
rolled  in  with  exquisite  curving,  and  the 
girl  watched  vainly  for  the  moment  when 
the  blue  of  the  deep  water  melted  into  the 
green  of  the  wave,  and  for  that  when  all 
shifted  into  pale  foam.  Leaning  back  against 
the  rock,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her  head, 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     295 

and  the  wind  from  the  sea  blowing  back  her 
hair  and  her  fluttering  sleeves,  she  spoke 
aloud,  exultantly,  forgetting  her  decision  of 
yesterday. 

"  No  one  but  me  knows  the  treasure  hid- 
den at  the  heart  of  him,  and  it  is  mine,  all 
mine." 

Delicate,  clear  morning  rested  over  the 
sea,  and  the  rising  tide  brought  Frances 
Wilmot,  to  whom  the  everlasting  rhythm 
had  grown  to  mean  always  a  feeling  of  gain 
or  of  loss,  strong  sense  of  incoming  life. 
Pale  and  far,  a  fairy  dream  of  blue,  the 
water  stretched,  with  myriad  sparkles  of 
light,  light,  light,  breaking  the  surface  a 
thousand  ways,  moving  hither  and  yon,  and 
gleaming  as  if  invisible  mermaids  in  count- 
less numbers  were  waving  torches  of  flame. 
The  freshness  of  those  moments  when  earth 
was  young  was  on  land  and  sea,  in  the  early 
look  of  blue  water  and  the  hints  of  silver 
mist  not  yet  cleared  from  the  face  of  the 
deep ;  and  its  voice  was  as  the  first  murmur 


296      THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

out  of  primeval  quiet.  Far  away,  dim  with 
distance,  two  fishing  boats  were  daintily 
riding  the  waves.  Watching  them,  the  girl 
leaned  forward,  and  her  eyes  were  wet. 

"Tell  me  if  I  love  him,"  she  begged  of 
her  comrade  sea. 

The  great  waves  answered  her  in  deep 
murmur  on  the  rocks,  and  in  faintest  ripples 
over  pebble  and  sand. 

"  I  did  not  want  to,"  she  whispered,  with 
the  sob  of  the  tide  in  her  voice.  "  I  was 
content,  for  I  had  you  and  all  the  other 
beauty,  and  my  old  happiness,  and  my  old 
pain.  It  was  all  good,  and  I  saw  my  way." 

From  the  heart  of  the  sea  to  the  heart  of 
the  woman  came  a  cry,  deep  calling  unto 
deep. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  she  said  brokenly,  and 
the  ocean,  with  moving  finger,  wrote  its  in- 
finite meanings  on  rock  and  on  sand. 

Frances  Wilmot  rose  and  walked  along 
the  lonely  shore,  over  pebbly  beach  and 
grass-grown  headland,  and  golden  butter- 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     297 

flies  followed  as  in  pursuit.  The  touch  of 
autumn  was  over  all  the  land,  and  the  gray 
cliffs  jutting  into  the  water  were  aster-cov- 
ered and  crowned  with  yellowing  grass.  At 
her  feet  the  tangled  blackberry  vines  were 
touched  with  red,  and  all  the  hinted  purple 
and  crimson  and  gold  seemed  to  her  full  of 
the  great  encompassing  rhythm  of  things. 
Wandering  the  way  of  the  sea,  she  sang  to 
herself,  her  song  of  the  fullness  of  life  flow- 
ing out  in  melody  that  only  now  and  then 
found  words.  The  lilt  of  her  voice  caught 
the  sound  of  the  breaking  wave,  and  its  low 
notes  chimed  with  the  withdrawing  ripple. 
Little  trills  as  of  human  laughter  broke  and 
splashed  with  the  foaming  spray  as  the  singer 
went  on,  voice  and  feet  and  body  keeping 
the  rhythm  of  the  ocean.  Tiny  sandpipers 
fluttered  away  from  her  in  charmed  fear, 
and  above,  sea  gulls  listened  on  outstretched 
wings.  Suddenly,  with  full  melody  of  sound, 
her  voice  echoed  a  great  sense  of  joy  that 
came  to  her,  smiting  like  a  pang,  as  soul  and 


298       THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

sense  thrilled  with  unbearable  keenness  of 
sudden  life. 

"  Ah,  it  hurts  !  "  she  said,  hiding  in  her 
hands,  even  from  the  sea,  her  face,  which 
glowed  with  the  flush  of  love  and  the  fear 
of  love. 

She  had  strolled,  with  the  song  on  her 
lips,  far  out  on  a  rocky  headland,  when, 
looking  up,  she  saw,  not  far  away,  Alice 
Bevanne  leaning  back  against  a  wall  of 
rock,  her  hands  clasped  loosely  before  her. 
Her  clothing  of  brownish  gray  was  so  near 
in  color  to  that  of  the  rocks  that  the  singer 
had  come  very  close  without  observing  her, 
and  the  song  broke  off  abruptly  as  the 
Southern  girl  stood  and  watched.  Some- 
thing in  the  slender  strength  of  the  figure 
with  the  finely  cut  face  made  it  seem  akin 
to  this  delicate  shore,  where  white  beach  and 
grass-grown  cliff  showed  singular  austerity 
in  their  beauty  of  outline  and  of  coloring. 
Detached,  apart,  the  girl  wore  an  inscrutable 
expression,  caught  from  the  ancient  rocks. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE      299 

"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  that  you  were 
here  ?  "  asked  Frances  Wilmot  reproachfully. 
"  You  must  have  heard  long  ago  the  great 
noise  I  was  making." 

Alice  Bevanne  looked  up  with  her  eyes 
alight  as  with  sudden  sunshine  on  deep 
sea. 

"  I  was  afraid  that  you  would  stop,"  she 
said  simply,  "  and  you  did,  just  before  you 
got  to  the  final  note,  the  note  that  I  wanted 
to  hear." 

They  talked  for  a  time  carelessly  on  the 
rocks,  in  the  rich  summer  sunshine  already 
touched  with  autumn's  gold,  trying  to  weave 
veils  of  commonplace  before  the  recesses  of 
their  hearts,  which  the  accident  of  meeting 
.had  half  revealed. 

"  It  is  almost  time  for  me  to  go  away," 
said  the  Southern  girl,  pointing  to  clustered 
purple  asters  over  their  heads,  and  to  the 
least  golden-rod  that  grew  in  a  cleft  of  the 
rocks  at  their  feet  by  the  sea. 

"  You  will  never  go   away,"  said  Alice 


300       THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

Bevanne,  with  a  little  husky  quiver  in  her 
voice.  "  That  which  you  are  and  do  can 
never  go." 

"  Is  it  very  lonely  here  in  the  winter  ?  " 
asked  Frances. 

The  girl  looked  at  her  as  if  startled  by 
the  thought  that  any  state  save  loneliness 
could  be  possible,  and  Frances  Wilmot,  alight 
with  love  and  fire,  with  the  great  joy  of  the 
world  kindled  in  pulse  and  in  finger,  gazed 
at  her  friend  with  a  new  sense  of  her  imper- 
ishable strength.  It  seemed  as  if  to  her  had 
been  granted,  in  saving  grace  of  sacrifice 
and  of  renunciation,  a  deeper  hold  on  life  in 
letting  go  than  she  herself  had  found  in  the 
fulfillment  of  the  heart's  desire.  Her  voice 
quivered  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  Alice 
Bevanne's,  and  spoke  softly:  — 

"  The  note  that  you  were  waiting  for  is 
too  high  for  me ;  I  think  that  no  one  but 
you  could  sing  it." 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     801 


XXI 


L  MARVIN  had  been  right  in  his  esti- 
mate of  the  probable  action  of  Uncle  Peter 
when  intrusted  with  his  own  secret,  —  for 
the  first  time  in  its  whole  existence  it  was 
unsafe.  The  old  man  confided  it  first  to 
Frances  Wilmot,  with  a  genuine  appeal  for 
sympathy,  which  was  swift  and  real  after  a 
startled  outbreak  of  surprise.  It  was  not 
hard  for  the  girl  to  divine  the  depth  of  his 
misery,  for  he  looked  suddenly  old  and 
wilted  and  gray.  His  gay  pride  in  the 
achievements  and  the  shortcomings  of  his 
ancestors  broken,  there  was  nothing  left  for 
his  support.  Above  their  china,  above  their 
silver,  above  their  mahogany,  he  had  plumed 
himself  upon  their  sins ;  stuff  of  his  heart 
and  soul  were  all  their  deeds  of  good  and  of 
ill,  and  the  corroding  rust  of  contented  re- 


802      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

pose  in  ancestral  experiences  had  eaten  out 
all  possibilities  of  action  on  his  own  part. 
Now  all  was  gone,  and  for  the  first  time  he 
was  alone  with  his  own  life,  and  helpless. 

Mrs.  Warren  was  his  next  confidante ; 
Miss  Wilmot  was  at  the  house  only  now  and 
then,  and  Uncle  Peter  wanted  somebody  who 
knew  near  him  all  the  time.  To  the  woman 
who  had  borne  his  whims  and  listened  cour- 
teously for  many  years  to  his  endless  talk- 
ing, the  shock  was  great,  and  the  sudden 
loneliness  of  the  old  man  tugged  at  her 
heartstrings.  He  had  been  too  long  identi- 
fied with  her  troubles  —  the  cause  of  many 
of  them  —  for  her  to  give  him  up  lightly, 
and  tears  shone  on  her  lashes  as  he  told  his 
tale.  He  found  the  sympathy  of  these  two 
women  most  sweet ;  after  all,  there  were  con- 
soling elements  in  the  situation,  —  romance 
and  mystery,  of  which  he  was  the  hero.  It 
was  part  of  a  strange  tale  which  he  could 
perhaps  write  out  some  day. 

Toward  Paul  his  action  was  different.   He 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE      SOS 

walked  into  the  library  one  morning,  where 
his  nephew  was  sitting,  gnawing  the  end  of 
a  penholder,  lost  in  happy  dreams,  and  told 
him  the  whole  story,  not  only  of  the  revela- 
tion in  regard  to  his  birth,  but  also  of  his 
project  for  disputing  the  will.  Sitting  in 
John  Warren's  great  leather  chair,  he  spoke 
with  the  simple  dignity  of  real  shame. 

"  I  could  n't  go  on  concealing  what  I  had 
done,  Paul,"  he  said.  "  Your  father  would 
have  despised  such  action,  for  I  never  really 
believed  that  I  was  in  the  right.  You,  too, 
would  despise  it,  and  you  must  know." 

Paul,  astounded,  incredulous,  and  deeply 
touched,  realized  that  never  in  his  life  had 
he  respected  the  old  man  so  much  as  he  did 
in  this  confession,  which  showed  the  influence 
of  the  Warren  habit  of  suffering  remorse  dis- 
proportionate to  misdeed.  Then  a  gleam  of 
amusement  shot  across  the  moisture  in  his 
eyes  as  the  new  Uncle  Peter  disappeared  and 
the  old  one  came  back,  whispering :  - 

"  In  a  way  I  did  not  do  it,  Paul ;  I  only 


304      THE   COMING    OF  THE   TIDE 

saw  it  done,  and  could  not  stop  it.  It  was 
as  if  I  were  but  the  instrument  of  some  all- 
compelling  force.  Many  would  call  it  an 
offense ;  I  call  it  a  phenomenon,  for  you 
cannot  get  back  of  scientific  law.  It  was  not 
I  who  sinned,  it  was  nature  who  sinned 
against  me ;  the  great  ancestral  host  moved 
hajid  and  brain." 

Here  Uncle  Peter's  voice  broke  as  he  sud- 
denly realized  that  this  great  ancestral  host 
was  no  longer  his,  and  that  he  could  not  ex- 
plain himself  ever  again  in  terms  of  great- 
great-grandfather  Warren.  To  Paul's  kindly 
suggestion  that  one  line  of  forbears  would 
perhaps  fit  as  well  as  another  that  explana- 
tion of  one's  shortcomings,  he  responded  only 
with  gloomy  silence  ;  then,  thrown  upon 
himself  by  virtue  of  his  late  misdeed  and  his 
confession,  he  took  a  new  stand  of  moral 
firmness. 

"  I  shall  go  away,  Paul,  for  I  have  no  right 
here,  especially  in  the  light  of  what  I  have 
done." 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE     305 

The  young  man  reached  across  the  table 
and  shook  Uncle  Peter's  dejected  hand. 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind  with  my 
consent.  A  man  belongs  where  he  has  lived 
his  life,  and  my  father  would  never  forgive 
me  if  harm  came  to  you." 

"But  my  —  my  plot,"  whispered  Uncle 
Peter. 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  Paul.  "  It  did  not 
amount  to  anything,  and  I  have  always 
felt,  as  you  have,  that  the  distribution  was 
wrong." 

"It  was  strange,  was  n't  it  ?  "  said  the  old 
man  appreciatively. 

"  It  was!  "  Paul  assented  heartily. 

"  Young  Mr.  Bevanne  felt  it,  too,"  con- 
fided Uncle  Peter.  "  His  sympathy  in  all 
this  trial  has  meant  much  to  me.  I  wish 
you  knew  him  better." 

Paul  growled  something  under  his  breath. 

"  He  is  extremely  sensitive  to  other  peo- 
ple's troubles,  and  I  could  hardly  have  come 
through  this  without  his  delicate  under- 


306      THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

standing  and  his  advice.  Oh,  he  has  done 
nothing  reprehensible,"  for  his  nephew's 
eyes  suddenly  blazed.  "  He  merely  thought 
that  there  was  a  wrong  there  to  right,  and 
has  given  what  help  he  could." 

Paul's  mother,  meeting  him  in  the  hall  as 
he  went  from  the  interview  with  Uncle  Peter, 
wondered  at  the  anger  in  his  face. 

"  He  has  told  you  !  "  she  exclaimed,  touch- 
ing her  son's  sleeve  with  gentle  fingers. 
"  Don't  be  hard  on  him,  Paul.  Your  father 
always  made  allowances  for  Peter,  and  he 
has  not  been  deceiving  us ;  he  never  knew." 

"  I  wonder  what  kind  of  a  brute  you  think 
me,  mother!"  said  Paul,  with  a  sudden 
smile.  "  Can't  you  realize  that  there  are  cer- 
tain things  that  a  son  of  yours  would  never 
even  feel  tempted  to  do  ?  " 

As  the  days  went  on  Paul  Warren  treated 
the  old  man  even  more  kindly  than  of  old ; 
the  irony  of  the  situation  was  punishment 
enough,  he  said  to  himself,  and  Nemesis  had 
been  almost  too  swift.  To  his  own  amuse- 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     307 

ment,  a  feeling  of  freedom  and  relief  took 
possession  of  him,  for  the  dark  incubus  of 
his  boyhood's  days  departed,  and  the  host 
of  phantom  ancestors  conjured  up  by  Uncle 
Peter  fled  into  gray  distance  as  their  leader, 
with  all  his  theories,  stood  routed  by  one 
simple  fact.  It  was  strange,  Paul  mused,  that 
that  which  had  been  so  solemn  a  thing  to  his 
earlier  years  should  go  with  such  sense  of 
rippling  merriment,  but  the  world  seemed  all 
echoing  with  laughter  to  Paul  Warren  in  these 
days,  for  joy  had  descended  upon  him  at  last, 
blotting  out  past  and  future.  To  waken 
every  morning  to  a  sense  of  the  incredible 
beauty  of  his  lot ;  to  fall  asleep  every  night 
with  the  feeling  that  happiness  too  great  to 
grasp  was  his,  was  an  experience  that  lay 
outside  all  that  he  had  previously  known  of 
life.  As  he  walked  up  and  down  the  great 
stairway,  past  the  old  clock  that  had  ticked 
away  his  forefathers'  lives,  and  the  great  por- 
traits that  had  been  the  terror  of  his  child- 
hood, he  stopped  sometimes  to  ask,  "Is  it 


I  ?  "  Moments  came  when  the  intolerable  joy 
was  keenest  hurt,  so  finely  was  his  spirit 
strung.  His  occasional  realization  that  a  wo- 
man had  refused  his  offered  love  could  not 
break  his  mood ;  perhaps  he  dreamed  that 
her  spoken  no  was  a  waiting  yes ;  perhaps 
was  content  with  the  feeling  that,  whether 
she  was  to  be  his  or  no,  the  joy  of  life  was 
his  with  its  thrill,  its  sting,  its  pain. 

He  found  her  one  day  in  the  garden, 
seated  on  a  green  bench  near  the  spot  where 
he  had  seen  her  first.  Sunlight  lay  on  her 
dark  hair  and  her  white  gown,  as  she  told  a 
tale  to  the  least  Andrew  Lane,  who  was  sit- 
ting open-mouthed  upon  the  grass  near  her, 
by  a  gray  kitten  that  lay  asleep  in  the  sun, 
its  head  upon  its  warm  paws.  She  had 
played  much  with  the  child  during  the  sum- 
mer, and  had  taught  him  all  her  lore. 

"  I  like  stories,"  said  Andy  suggestively. 

«  What  kind  of  stories  ? " 

"  Fairy  stories  are  best,  but  I  should  like 
one  I  have  never  heard." 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     309 

"And  what  about?" 

"  I  think,"  said  the  little  man,  after  re- 
flection, "  about  my  kitty." 

"  Your  kitty  asleep  or  awake  ? "  asked 
Frances  Wilmot  gravely. 

A  smile  of  deep  interest  rippled  across  the 
child's  face. 

"  He  is  asleep  now ;  I  think  I  should  like 
it  about  my  kitty  asleep." 

The  Southern  girl  leaned  back,  thinking, 
and  then  the  story  began. 

"  This  is  called  <  The  Kitten's  Dream.' " 

"  Who  wrote  it  ?  "  demanded  Andy. 

"  Nobody  wrote  it ;  I  just  felt  it,  and  I  am 
going  to  tell  it  to  you.  The  kitten  dreamed 
that  he  was  running ;  did  n't  you  see  his 
paws  twitch  just  now  ?  " 

"  No,  but  they  do  sometimes,"  admitted 
the  child.  "  I  know  that  he  likes  to  run 
better  than  anything  else." 

"  The  kitten  dreamed  that  he  gave  a  little 
leap  one  day  and  sprang  into  a  world  where 
everything  danced  and  moved  all  the  time, 


310      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

so  that  there  was  something  to  chase  forever 
and  ever,  to  the  end  of  the  dream,  to  the 
end  of  the  world.  There  were  little  silvery 
mice  that  ran  and  ran,  with  their  long  tails 
dangling  behind  them;  and  there  were  green 
grasshoppers  that  hopped  and  hopped ;  and 
beautiful  toads  of  green  and  brown  that 
jumped  and  jumped,  but  always  sideways. 
There  were  fluttering  butterflies  of  many 
colors  that  flew  this  way  and  that  on  wings 
that  were  yellow  or  blue  or  green  with  won^ 
derful  markings,  and  he  chased  them  all  and 
never  caught  any,  and  he  was  glad." 

"My  kitty  catches  grasshoppers  some- 
times," ventured  Andy. 

"  Does  n't  he  look  sorry  ?  "  demanded  the 
story-teller. 

"  Maybe,"  said  the  boy,  thinking  hard. 
"  I  never  thought  of  that." 

"In  this  country  of  the  kitten's  dream, 
when  the  apples  fell  from  the  trees  they 
rolled  and  rolled  and  never  stopped ;  there 
were  green  ones,  and  golden  ones,  and  deep, 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     311 

deep  red  ones,  and  they  flashed  away 
through  the  grass.  The  only  thing  that 
troubled  the  kitten  was  that  he  could  not 
chase  them  all  at  the  same  time. 

"  The  only  flowers  that  grew  here  were 
flowers  that  moved  and  nodded  - 

"  I  've  seen  them  !  "  interrupted  the  child, 
visibly  excited,  —  "  daisies  and  buttercups 
and  wild  honeysuckle." 

The  story-teller  assented. 

"  There  were  others,  too,  for  all  flowers 
move  and  dance  if  you  only  watch.  Here 
the  little  green  leaves  twinkled  and  moved 
all  the  time,  for  the  swiftest  breeze  chased 
and  chased  everything  there,  flower  and 
leaf,  butterfly  and  grasshopper,  to  the  end 
of  the  world,  where  some  buttercups  nodded 
over  the  very  edge ;  and  in  chasing  the 
breeze  the  kitten  chased  everything  at  once. 
Most  gladly  of  all  the  little  wind  ran  after 
the  tall  grass  that  grew  in  the  meadow,  and 
made  it  move  in  great  waves  like  the  waves 
of  the  sea." 


312      THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE 

"  That 's  where  I  've  seen  the  daisies," 
said  Andy,  nodding  eagerly.  "  Tell  me  about 
some  more  things  that  went." 

"  I  must  not  forget  the  brooks :  there 
were  little  brooks  that  leaped  and  hopped, 
all  full  of  golden  sparkles,  and  it  was  as  much 
as  ever  tire  kitten  could  do  to  keep  up  with 
one.  In  the  brooks  were  fish  with  beautiful 
scales  of  many  colors,  silver  and  rose  and 
purple  all  shading  into  one  another,  and  the 
kitten  played  tag  with  the  fish." 

"  But  did  n't  he  get  wet  ?  He  just  hates 
water." 

"  The  dream  that  the  kitten  had  of  tenest," 
said  Frances  Wilmot  gravely,  "  was  that  the 
water  did  not  make  him  wet.  He  could  get 
into  it  with  all  four  paws  and  tail  to  follow 
the  fish,  but  he  never  caught  them,  and  he 
never  caught  the  brook,  for  it  ran  away  from 
him,  and  he  never  caught  the  lovely  golden- 
brown  lights  and  shadows  in  the  bed  of  the 
stream  where  the  pebbles  were,  for  whenever 
he  put  his  foot  on  them  they  were  gone." 


"  Was  it  always  summer  ?  "  asked  the 
boy.  "  It  is  n't  here." 

"  No,  sometimes  it  was  winter,  and  there 
were  great  white  snowflakes  falling  here  and 
there,  to  follow  and  to  follow.  On  cold  nights 
there  were  warm  fires  in  the  great  fireplace, 
and  beautiful  flames  curled  and  danced  and 
fluttered,  only  they  made  him  sad,  for  they 
were  bad  for  kitten  paws.  He  knew,  for 
once  he  had  chased  a  little  flame  and  had 
caught  it,  poor  kitten  !  He  liked  better  the 
little  golden  sunbeams  moving  on  old  gray 
stone  walls  in  summer,  and  he  ran  after  these 
by  the  hour,  with  leaf  shadows  moving  in 
them,  but  he  never  caught  any. 

"  But  these  are  only  things  on  earth. 
Often  he  dreamed  of  following  through  the 
sky  great  birds  with  blue  wings,  and  birds 
with  green  wings,  and  birds  with  long  white 
tails  that  fluttered  just  ahead.  There  were 
little  mists  and  clouds,  too,  floating,  float- 
ing away,  and  he  often  dreamed  of  running 
—  how  he  never  knew  —  through  the  air, 


314      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

and  chasing  now  a  rosy  cloud  and  now  a 
white  one  with  purple  shadows,  but  if  he 
ever  got  his  paw  on  one  it  parted  and  floated 
on  in  a  hundred  little  shapes  of  cloud,  rose- 
colored  or  white,  leaving  the  kitten  distracted 
way  up  in  the  blue  sky." 

"  Did  n't  he  ever  catch  anything  at  all  ?  " 
asked  a  grieved  voice. 

Frances  Wilmot  bent  and  stroked  the 
child's  tawny  hair. 

"  The  kitten  was  a  very  wise  one,  and  it 
always  dreamed  of  running  and  running 
after  things,  and  never  catching  them." 

The  kitten  woke  and  stretched  itself  in 
the  sun,  then  lazily  rose  and  began  to  chase 
a  bit  of  thistledown  that  floated  past  on  the 
warm  air. 

"  See  ! "  said  Frances  Wilmot  triumph- 
antly. 

Andy  looked  after  the  kitten  with  new 
interest,  then  followed  it  as  fast  as  bare  feet 
could  go.  It  was  then  that  Paul  Warren 
came  out  from  the  cool  shadow  of  the  cedar 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     315 

trees  and  looked  down  at  the  face  whose  hu- 
morous sadness  told  how  near  to  her  deeper 
thought  the  whimsical  tale  had  gone. 

"  What  wicked  philosophy  are  you  teach- 
ing that  child  ?  "  he  asked. 

"It  is  truth,"  she  said  gravely.  " It  is 
only  the  escape  of  beauty  that  is  beautiful, 
the  feeling  it  come  and  go." 

"  And  of  love  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  is  the  same  with  love,"  she 
answered,  whispering,  with  her  eyes  closed 
under  the  sun.  "It  is  so  great;  it  comes, 
wave  after  wave,  like  the  sea,  like  a  great 
sea  that  has  no  shore ;  perhaps  it  goes  the 
same  way,  —  who  can  tell  ?  " 

"  Then  you  have  felt  it  coming?"  he  asked 
in  a  voice  that  trembled. 

"  I  think,"  she  answered,  "  that  I  have 
felt  the  ripples  about  my  feet." 

He  bent  and  kissed  her  where  the  dark 
hair  met  the  brow,  and  her  eyes,  as  they 
slowly  opened,  saw  a  sudden  dimness  in  his. 
She  smiled  wistfully  up  at  him. 


316      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

"  Only,  if  we  try  to  bid  this  moment  stay, 
we  may  never  again  find  one  so  exquisite ; 
perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  let  it  go,  and 
to  be  forever  pursuing  and  free." 

He  took  her  hands  and  held  them  fast 
within  his  own ;  then,  as  a  full  realization  of 
his  joy  swept  over  him,  he  bowed  his  head 
upon  them,  crying  out :  — 

"  I  am  unworthy,  unworthy,  but  .1  love 
you.  You  are  not  afraid  to  come  ?  " 

"  Yes, "  she  made  answer,  "  I  am  afraid, 
but  I  will  come." 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     317 


XXII 


J_  HE  beauty  of  autumn  deepened  over  sea 
and  land  as  the  September  days  went  swiftly 
by.  Clearer,  crisper  blue  lay  on  the  water, 
while  all  things  growing  by  field  and  shore, 
the  bulrushes  in  the  swamp  land,  the  grass 
on  the  upland  slopes,  aster,  golden-rod,  and 
fern  blended  into  one  dim  harmony.  This- 
tle-down and  milkweed  bloom  floated  noise- 
lessly past  the  girl  who  wandered  by  shore 
and  by  inland  paths,  feeling  in  all  the  throb- 
bing, passing  color  the  very  pulse  of  nature's 
life  beating  on  her  own. 

Through  these  long  days  of  dream,  when 
'  earth  dreamed  with  her,  her  eyes  were  dim 
with  happiness,  broken  only  by  the  fear  that 
joy  had  woven  about  her  too  potent  a  spell, 
and  that  nothing  could  break  it  hencefor- 
ward, not  the  call  of  human  suffering  nor  the 


318       THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

old  quick  sense  of  human  need.  Then  the 
mood  passed ;  her  own  heart  and  the  wide 
horizon  line  bore  witness  to  the  larger  life 
that  was  rippling  within  her  own. 

She  was  much  alone  in  these  days,  except 
when  Paul  Warren  or  his  mother  was  with 
her,  for  she  shunned  the  Bevanne  household, 
fearing  to  meet  Alec  Bevanne.  The  scene 
on  the  rocks  at  Tern  Island  was  too  vivid 
and  too  terrible  for  her  to  wish  a  repetition, 
and  the  young  man's  face,  wrought  out  of 
its  old  semblance  by  overmastering  passion, 
haunted  her  dreams.  The  few  occasions  on 
which  she  had  seen  him  since  that  day 
brought  her  no  relief ;  to  be  sure,  the  flame 
had  died  out  of  his  face,  but  the  darkened 
eyes  and  sullen  mouth  filled  her  with  re- 
morse for  the  wrong  she  had  unwittingly 
done  him. 

She  grieved  that  she  must  meet  Alice 
Bevanne  less  and  less,  and  grieved  the  more 
because  she  saw  the  record  of  fresh  trouble 
written  in  the  girl's  eyes.  Longing  to  ques- 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE      319 

tion  her,  but  not  daring,  she  stood  aloof, 
fancying  at  times  that  Alice  was  aware  of 
her  brother's  story ;  at  these  moments  her 
friend's  expression  became  to  her  but  the 
visible  picture  of  the  anxiety  in  her  own 
mind.  Again  she  realized  that  this  could  be 
to  the  New  England  girl  but  one  strand  in 
the  dark  web  which  fate  had  woven  about 
her,  and  remorse  changed  back  to  pity. 

They  were  walking  side  by  side  along  the 
quiet  shore-  one  evening,  for  Alice  had  come 
in  the  old  fashion  to  the  Inn,  and  were 
watching  the  faint,  last  flush  of  day  fade 
into  twilight  over  dim  water  and  dusky 
shore.  The  moon,  which  had  hung  like  a 
pale  shield  against  the  blue,  gleamed  round 
and  golden  as  they  paced  the  sand,  and  in 
the  broad  pathway  of  light  a  spectral  ship 
with  all  sails  set  moved  down  the  water  as 
if  going  from  one  land  of  faery  to  another. 
Suddenly  the  mystical  charm  of  the  moment 
was  broken,  and  Frances  Wilmot  felt  her 
friend's  hand  quiver  on  her  arm.  Following 


320       THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

the  glance  of  her  straining  eyes,  she  saw, 
ahead,  on  the  rocks  which  lay  bare  in  the 
moonlight,  a  swift  shadow  moving  close,  too 
close,  to  the  water ;  a  man's  white  hat 
gleamed  out  by  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  then 
disappeared.  Alice  Bevanne  broke  from  her 
side,  ran,  fleet  of  foot,  to  the  rocks,  climbed 
hastily  up,  and  the  sound  of  voices  came 
back  to  the  Southern  girl,  who  stood  alone 
on  the  white  sand,  her  heart  throbbing  with 
a  nameless  fear.  Presently  Alice  came  back, 
and  was  silent  as  before. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  demanded  Frances  Wil- 
mot. 

"  Nothing,"  answered  the  girl  hastily.  "  I 
was  afraid  for  a  minute,  but  it  is  all  right." 

"  I  will  not  be  put  off  in  this  way,"  said 
Frances. 

"  It  is  only  Alec,"  said  the  other  reluc- 
tantly, averting  her  face.  "  He  has  not 
seemed  like  himself  lately,  —  something  has 
troubled  him ;  we  are  afraid  of  melancholia, 
and  I  am  watching  him  a  little." 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     321 

"  What  caused  it  ? "  asked  Frances,  a 
quiver  in  her  voice. 

"Nothing  that  could  be  helped,"  answered 
Alice  quietly ;  then  she  turned  her  face,  and 
her  friend  saw  that  she  knew. 

"Ah!"  cried  Frances  piteously,  "you 
have  so  much  to  vex  you  !  Why  should  I 
be  sent  to  make  life  harder  in  so  many 
ways ! " 

"  Hush ! "  said  Alice,  laying  a  finger  on 
her  friend's  lips.  "  You  have  done  nothing, 
nothing,  do  you  understand,  that  has  been 
your  fault.  To  me  you  have  been  sheer  bless- 
ing." 

Later,  from  a  clump  of  birches  near  the 
top  of  the  cliff,  Frances  watched  brother 
and  sister  going  home  together  along  the 
grass-grown  road  across  the  moorland  ;  and 
standing  alone,  while  the  little  leaves  flut- 
tering in  the  night-wind  on  forehead  and 
cheek  and  the  soft  chirp  of  crickets  min- 
gling with  the  murmur  of  water  brought 
her  an  almost  unbearable  sense  of  fullness 


322      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

of  life,  she  marveled  at  the  growth  of  a  soul 
where  all  that  makes  existence  sweet  had 
been  denied.  Achievement  was  already 
written  on  this  girl's  face,  in  delicate  pencil- 
ings,  and  soft  shadows  at  temple  and  eye. 
It  was  one  that  could  never  show  faded 
beauty,  immortal  meanings  being  written 
there. 

That  night  Alice  Bevanne  stood  long  by 
her  open  window,  with  the  cool  night  air  on 
her  lifted  face,  looking  out  into  the  shad- 
owed night.  Of  what  she  was  thinking  none 
could  tell :  not  the  crickets  chirping  out- 
side, nor  the  golden  moon  across  the  water, 
nor  the  scraggly  locust  trees  that  had  guarded 
and  shadowed  her  life.  Then,  going  over  to 
her  mirror  to  unfasten  the  old-fashioned  gold 
pin  at  the  throat  of  her  white  woolen  gown, 
she  suddenly  bent  and  blew  out  the  candles 
in  the  branching  candelabra,  as  if  her  reflec- 
tion had  startled  her  with  an  expression  of 
sharing  her  confidence,  for  Alice  Bevanne 
was  reticent  even  in  the  presence  of  her 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     323 

mirror,  and  faced  her  own  image  with  an 
expression  which  said,  "  Hitherto  shalt  thou 
come  and  no  farther."  Far,  far  away,  as  she 
lay  sleeping  on  her  pillow  that  night,  seemed 
the  beating  of  the  tide ;  far,  far  away  the 
ebb  and  flow  of  human  life,  so  poignantly 
her  own  without  any  share. 

As  September  lingered  by  the  shore,  the 
air  was  full  of  the  breathlessness  of  coming 
change ;  then,  out  of  the  silence  across  the 
sea,  came  a  great  autumn  storm.  It  began 
with  a  day  of  darkened  sky  and  of  ominous 
stillness;  the  slow  waves  on  the  purple- 
tinged  rocks  seemed  thrilling  with  some 
deep  sense  of  stir  at  the  depths  of  things. 
Frances  Wilmot  was  vaguely  troubled ;  lis- 
tening on  the  rocks  with  strained  ears  she 
murmured  her  song  of  the  tide,  and  into  it 
crept  a  soft  moan,  drawn  from  the  inner 
heart  of  pain.  This  sea  was  strange  to  her 
who  had  known  and  loved  it  in  so  many 
phases,  —  its  stillest,  most  silvery  look,  its 
endlessly  paling  and  deepening  blue,  and  its 


324      THE   COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

swift,  brief  summer  storms.  Could  this  be 
her  ocean,  at  whose  edge  she  had  so  often 
waited  in  the  soft  ripple  of  darkness  and 
of  water,  sometimes  helping  pile  driftwood 
high,  to  watch  the  leaping  golden  flame  of 
fire  by  the  white  flame  of  the  waves  ?  Now, 
under  the  low,  dull  purple  clouds,  came  a 
sullen,  lashing  wind,  bringing  gusts  of  blind- 
ing rain.  All  things  far  were  blotted  from 
sight ;  from  the  window  could  be  seen  only 
blackened  sky  and  darkened  sea,  against 
which  gleamed  streaks  of  livid  foam.  The 
dismal  booming  of  the  waves  on  the  rocks 
sounded  through  day  and  night,  and  a  great 
wind  rushed  from  the  water,  shaking  the  Inn 
to  its  foundations,  crashing  in  the  branches 
of  trees,  and  carrying  the  moan  of  the  sea 
to  the  very  heart  of  the  forest. 

Three  days  and   nights  the  fury  of  the 
gale  lasted,  and  one  by  one  the  ladies  of  the 

O  •/ 

Emerson  Inn  deserted,  while  the  schoolmis- 
tress maid,  with  heart  beating  fast  in  expec- 
tation, disappeared,  joining  the  ranks  of  those 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     325 

who  seek  glory  beyond  the  far  horizon.  Mis- 
tress Somebody  from  Somewhere  was  the 
first  of  the  guests  to  depart ;  the  house  was 
going  to  rock,  she  observed,  like  a  vessel  in 
a  tornado,  and  she  had  had  enough  expe- 
rience of  that  kind.  It  was  when  the  storm 
was  at  its  height  that  the  Lady  from  Cin- 
cinnati went,  resolute,  disregarding  driving 
wind  and  pelting  rain.  She  was  not  afraid  of 
crashing  branches,  nor  did  she  think  wind 
or  rain  would  hurt  the  horses,  and  she  had 
two  lectures  to  make  ready  at  once  for  a 
woman's  club.  Waterproof-clad,  with  a  thick 
veil  tied  under  her  chin,  she  looked  through 
the  dripping  windows  to  see  that  her  trunks 
were  well  covered  in  the  express  wagon, 
then  bent  and  kissed  Frances  Wilmot's 
brow. 

"  We  have  all  gained  a  great  deal  from 
one  another  this  summer,  have  ri't  we  ?  "  she 
said,  holding  the  girl's  hand.  Then  she  went 
out  into  the  wet  world,  and  disappeared  be- 
hind the  lashing  branches  of  the  pines  on 


826      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

the  hill,  down  the  streaming  road,  and  passed 
from  sight  —  forever.  But  the  little  Lady 
from  Boston  stayed  on,  glorying  in  the 
storm,  as  the  rain  ceased,  and  still  the  clouds 
hung  low,  and  a  great  wind  blew  and  blew. 
Higher  and  higher  rose  the  sea.  Dark 
and  incredibly  great  came  the  strong  racers 
of  ocean,  their  high  crests  breaking  in  green 
curves,  the  green  foaming  into  white.  To 
Frances  Wilmot,  in  her  wonder  and  awe,  it 
seemed  as  if  lines  of  mountain  had  suddenly 
broken  into  quick  movement,  and  were  com- 
ing on  in  an  awful  march  of  terror  and  of 
beauty,  of  roar  and  thunder,  of  color  and 
shadow  and  foam.. 


THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE 


XXIII 


XT  was  Uncle  Peter  who  carried  to  Alec 
Bevanne  the  news  concerning  the  happiness 
that  had  come  upon  the  Warren  household, 
—  a  chastened,  quiet  Uncle  Peter,  whose 
manner  had  lost  something  of  its  airy  assur- 
ance. He  had  come  out  in  driving  wind  to- 
day, though  ordinarily  the  savage  aspects  of 
nature  appealed  to  him  but  slightly,  to  watch 
the  great  waves  rolling  in  under  a  darkened 
sky.  The  storm  which  had  vanished  from  the 
upper  air  seemed  to  have  betaken  itself  to 
the  very  heart  of  the  sea,  and  to  be  raging 
there,  secret,  unappeasable.  The  mountain 
waves  of  yesterday  were  gone,  yet  more  aw- 
ful was  the  mighty  stirring  of  the  depths. 

On  the  spray-dashed  rocks  he  found  Alec 
Bevanne,  standing  idly  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  his  felt  hat  pulled  low  over  his 


328      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

eyes,  dejected  as  if  partaking  of  the  mood 
of  moaning  wind  and  sullen  sea.  He  hardly 
glanced  at  Uncle  Peter,  but  stood  apart,  and 
the  look  in  his  blue  eyes  was  that  of  one 
so  withdrawn  in  his  inner  trouble  that  the 
beating  waves  of  human  life  could  not  break 
entrance  there.  It  grieved  Uncle  Peter,  who 
could  not  bear  the  sight  of  suffering,  nor  a 
cold  look  from  one  who  had  been  his  friend ; 
and,  drawing  near,  he  held  out  his  withered 
old  hand  in  greeting.  The  other  shook  it 
mechanically,  with  a  look  that  suggested 
blank  unconsciousness  that  any  one  was 
there  rather  than  active  desire  that  he 
should  go  away.  With  a  wish  to  comfort 
and  to  cheer,  Uncle  Peter,  mysteriously 
touching  the  lapel  of  the  young  man's  coat, 
said  in  a  half  whisper :  — 

"  You  look  as  if  a  bit  of  good  news  would 
do  you  good.  In  confidence  I  can  tell  you 
that  our  charming  Miss  Wilmot  has  con- 
sented to  become  one  of  our  —  of  the  War- 
ren family,  in  fact,  to  become  Paul's  wife." 


Genuine  gladness  sounded  in  Uncle  Peter's 
voice  :  romance  in  any  form  he  loved,  —  it 
need  not  be  his  own.  In  this  mood  of  ex- 
hilaration he  entirely  forgot  the  passion  of 
his  young  neighbor  for  Miss  Wilmot,  forgot 
until  he  saw  his  face,  and  then  was  frightened 
by  the  pallor  that  crept  over  cheek  and 
forehead,  and  by  the  tightening  of  the  lips 
and  the  cords  of  the  neck.  It  was  too  late 
to  do  anything  to  repair  his  mistake,  and 
Uncle  Peter  wisely  resolved  to  go.  He  did 
so,  tripping  hastily  over  wet  rock  and  slip- 
pery stone,  for  he  felt  that  he  was  old  and 
no  longer  strong  of  arm,  and  he  had  seen 
the  sudden  clenching  of  Alec  Bevanne's 
fists,  with  full  realization  that  he  had  before 
him  a  man  beside  himself  with  rage. 

"  There  have  been  two  cases  of  insanity 
in  that  family,"  said  Uncle  Peter  breathlessly 
to  himself,  as  he  gained  a  safe  "place  of  wet 
grass  in  the  cove. 

Alec  Bevanne  was  left  alone  upon  the 
rocks,  and,  restless  as  the  restless  sea,  he 


330      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

strolled  along  the  shore  with  movements 
which  suggested  that  the  wind  had  its  way 
with  him  and  bent  him  to  its  will.  Beyond 
the  Emerson  Inn  he  suddenly  found  Frances 
Wilmot  at  the  edge  of  the  little  cove  where 
his  father's  old  dory  was  pulled  high  upon 
the  sand.  The  girl  was  standing  with  wind- 
tossed  hair  driven  back  from  her  forehead, 
and  her  golf  cape  blown  from  her  shoulders 
with  a  motion  that  resembled  the  flutter  of 
wings.  Joy  of  the  passion  of  the  sea  was 
strong  upon  her,  as  was  shown  by  the  look 
of  her  face  when  the  spray  touched  it,  and 
by  the  eyes  that  watched  the  inky  purple 
of  the  far  water,  the  great  green  curling 
waves,  and  the  gray  gulls  far  and  near.  She 
stood,  braced  with  tense  muscles  against  the 
wind,  unconscious  of  him,  unconscious  of 
everything  save  the  stormy  beauty  and  the 
thunder  of  ocean. 

As  he  saw  her,  he  stopped  for  a  moment 
and  stood  rigid,  with  his  hands  clenched 
tightly  at  his  sides.  Then  a  quiver  went 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     381 

through  him,  and  he  shook  with  something 
that  was  not  the  might  of  the  wind ;  an  evil 
look  came  to  the  bright  blue  eyes  as  he 
went  to  her  down  the  shore  path  where  fern 
and  goldenrod  lay  beaten  low  by  the  past 
fury  of  the  storm.  When  he  spoke  to  her, 
it  was  with  a  voice  that  trembled  through 
his  effort  to  appear  entirely  self -con  trolled. 

"Miss  Wilmot,"  he  said  eagerly,  "I  am 
going  to  ask  a  very  great  service  of  you." 

She  turned  to  him,  smiling  through  the 
spray. 

"Yes?" 

The  rush  of  the  wind  and  the  roar  of 
the  breakers  almost  drowned  his  voice, 
and  he  came  close  to  her  before  he  spoke 
again. 

"  My  sister  Alice,"  he  said  quickly,  and 
as  he  spoke  she  no  longer  wondered  at  his 
uncontrollable  agitation,  "  is  out  yonder  on 
the  point  beyond  Storm  Cove.  She  went 
out  early  this  afternoon,  mistaking  the  tide  ; 
it  must  have  surprised  her  there  and  cut 


her  off  from  the  mainland.  There  is  but  one 
way  to  save  her,  and  there  is  no  one  else 
near.  Will  you  help  ?  I  think  that  the 
Rocket  will  weather  the  waves ;  I  'm  a  fairly 
good  sailor,  you  know,  and  there  is  no  such 
sea  on  as  there  was  yesterday." 

She  marveled  at  the  length  and  the  care- 
fulness of  his  explanation,  and  answered 
before  his  last  word  was  said. 

"  Alice  in  danger  ?  Of  course  I  will  come  ! 
Quick!  Push  out  the  dory,  and  I  will 
help !  " 

She  looked  at  the  raging  water  and  the 
long,  white  streaks  of  foam,  knowing  no  fear 
in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  and  the  sud- 
den call  of  need.  The  man's  hands  grasped 
the  boat,  and,  with  strength  that  was  not 
all  of  muscle,  dragged  it  to  the  water,  then, 
when  he  had  bade  her  leap  in,  pulled  out 
into  the  waves  with  vehement  will.  Admi- 
ration for  his  courage  and  his  skill  stung 
her  with  sudden  penitence  as  she  realized 
that  she  had  misjudged  in  the  past  the  man 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     333 

whose  love  for  his  sister  could  nerve  him  to 
deeds  so  great. 

"  Could  n't  we  go  on  in  the  dory  ?  "  she 
asked,  as  they  drew  near  the  Rocket,  which 
was  tugging  at  her  buoy  as  she  rode  the 
waves,  now  on  the  crest,  now  plunging  into 
the  trough. 

"  No,  no  !  "  he  shouted  back.  "  There,  1 
have  her.  Jump  !  " 

Obedient  to  his  bidding,  yet  now  half 
afraid,  she  sprang  into  the  boat  and  crawled 
to  the  helm ;  the  man  leaped  after  her,  and, 
with  a  shout  that  had  a  ring  of  exultation  in 
it,  ran  up  the  sail,  tugging  at  the  wet  halyards 
with  fingers  that  trembled  in  strong  excite- 
ment ;  then  slipped  his  mooring,  and  they 
were  away. 

"So  much  sail  in  this  sea?"  asked  Frances 
Wilmot ;  courage  like  this  man's  was  a  splen- 
did thing,  she  said  nervously  to  herself. 

"  She  '11  carry  it !  "  he  cried  back.  "  Fine, 
is  n't  it?" 

The  Rocket  leaped  and  plunged,  and  rose 


834      THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

again,  lay  almost  on  her  beam  ends,  and  went 
out  on  the  great  rolling  waves.  The  strain 
on  the  girl's  muscles  as  she  clung  to  the  tiller 
was  almost  unbearable,  yet  with  it  came  the 
joy  of  struggle,  and  a  feeling  of  triumph  as 
one  breaker  after  another,  crashing  against 
the  bow,  dashed  the  spray  from  stem  to 
stern  and  went  seething  past.  Across  the 
wash  of  wave  and  of  spray  she  saw  with 
wonder  the  look  of  delight  in  her  compan- 
ion's eyes,  and  the  brilliant  spots  of  red 
that  stained  the  pallor  of  his  cheeks.  A  dull 
feeling  of  alarm  paralyzed  her  hands,  and 
the  boat  swayed  and  tossed  as  a  great  wave 
struck  her  almost  abeam.  When,  with  strain- 
ing timbers,  the  Rocket  had  righted  herself, 
Frances  was  horrified  to  see  that  the  man, 
with  insane  exultation,  was  making  ready  to 
run  up  the  jib. 

"I  cannot  hold  her,"  she  called  quickly. 
"  You  must  take  my  place." 

He  did  her  bidding,  grasping  tiller  and 
sheet,    and   the    girl,    creeping    cautiously 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     335 

toward  the  bow,  faced  the  shore  and  saw 
that  they  were  heading,  in  a  course  that  led 
past  the  Inn  and  past  the  Warren  place, 
toward  a  point  that  jutted  into  the  water 
toward  the  south.  Suddenly  she  cried 
aloud :  - 

"  But,  Mr.  Bevanne  —  you  are  mistaken, 
we  need  not  go  !  There  is  Alice  running 
along  the  rocks." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  for  the  first  time 
spoke  calmly. 

"  I  am  not  mistaken  :  I  have  lied." 
"  Is  n't  Alice  in  danger  ?  " 
"  I  judge  not,  from  what  I  see." 
"  Why  have  you  done  this  thing  ?  " 
Her  scorn  stung  him  as  wind  and  spray 
could  not  sting. 

"  Because  it  is  the  only  thing  left  to  do," 
he  said  dully.  "  If  we  may  not  live  together, 
we  must  die  together;  there  is  no  other 
way.  If  we  upset,  and  I  pray  we  may,  there 
will  be  an  end  of  my  misery ;  that  is  all." 
Even  in  her  moment  of  supreme  danger, 


836      THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

when  she  saw  the  reckless  motions  of  his 
hands,  and  knew  that  every  inch  of  the 
mainsail  was  spread  to  this  storm  wind,  pity 
touched  the  woman's  heart  for  this  man 
who  was  as  a  bit  of  driftwood  in  the  great 
tide  of  passion  that  carried  him  whither  it 
would.  She  knew  his  purpose  now ;  he  had 
made  all  ready  for  the  disaster  which  he 
knew  might  any  minute  come. 

Meanwhile,  Alice  Bevanne  was  running 
over  the  winding  shore  path  toward  the 
Warren  house,  running  as  she  had  never  run 
before,  yet  with  speed  that  seemed  to  her 
but  a  snail's  pace.  Wet  grass  caught  at  her 
damp  skirts  and  stayed  her  steps  ;  scrub-pine 
and  juniper  reached  out  detaining  fingers 
to  hold  her  back.  Here  was  the  high  rock 
where  Paul  Warren  and  she  had  sat  en- 
throned as  king  and  queen  when  she  was 
six  years  old,  with  Alec  for  retainer  or  for 
rival  monarch,  as  the  occasion  demanded,  in 
those  sweet  hours  of  stolen  play  of  which 
nothing  was  ever  said  at  home ;  and  just 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE^    837 

beyond  was  the  cove  where,  the  haughty 
footsteps  of  the  retreating  queen  having  led 
her  too  near  the  edge,  she  had  fallen  into 
the  water,  Paul  Warren  plunging  to  the  res- 
cue. These  and  myriad  other  pictures  came 
back  to  her  as  the  swift  feet  sped  over  root 
and  pebble,  bringing  to  the  swifter  spirit 
only  a  nightmare  consciousness  of  standing 
still. 

Near  the  boathouse  in  the  cove  she  found 
Paul  Warren,  who  was  examining  wharf 
and  shore  in  order  to  see  what  damage  had 
been  done  by  the  great  storm.  He  lifted  his 
head  and  looked  at  her  in  amazement,  won- 
dering what  alarm  could  so  transform  the 
quietest  face  he  knew. 

"  Mr.  Warren,''  gasped  the  girl  breath- 
lessly, "  something  is  wrong,  —  there  is  dan- 
ger,,—  you  must  go  out  " 

Dumb  with  wonder,  he  looked  over  the 
waste  of  water,  following  the  direction  in 
which  her  finger  pointed. 

"  It  is  Alec ;  he  is  not  himself  any  longer, 


338      THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

and  he  has  taken  Miss  Wilmot  out  in  the 
Rocket.  I  do  not  understand,  but  see  !  " 

Out  on  the  water,  rocking,  sinking,  rising 
again,  Paul  Warren  saw  a  white  rag  of  sail, 
forlorn  and  far  as  a  lost  hope. 

"  In  a  sea  like  this  !  "  he  cried. 

"  Go  quickly !  I  will  come  with  you,  for 
you  know  that  I  can  row.  The  wind  is  beat- 
ing them  in  toward  shore,  you  see.  Alec  — 
Alec  does  not  know  what  he  is  doing." 

At  his  side,  inspiring,  suggesting,  calming, 
the  girl  worked  as  one  to  whom  the  magic 
vision  has  been  granted  of  the  one  right 
thing  to  do.  The  oars  were  close  at  hand  in 
the  boathouse ;  as  he  pushed  out  the  dory, 
the  woman  stepped  into  the  water  at  his 
side. 

"  I  dare  not  let  you  go  !  "  he  panted. 

"  I  dare  not  stay,"  she  answered. 

There  was  a  quick  breath  on  his  hand  ;  a 
head  was  laid  upon  it  in  the  old  affectionate 
way  of  Robin  Hood's  earlier  years.  With  a 
joyous  bark  the  dog  leaped  into  the  waves 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE      339 

after  his  master,  and,  as  if  the  sense  of  com- 
ing danger,  working  along  the  delicate  nerves 
of  the  beast,  had  at  last  brought  him  con- 
viction of  something  supremely  right  to  be 
done,  he  tried  to  follow,  but  was  driven  back 
by  the  might  of  the  breakers.  Wild  with 
excitement,  he  ran  along  the  shore,  leaping 
and  barking,  as  the  dory  fought  its  way  to- 
ward the  south,  cutting  across  the  path  of 
the  Rocket,  until,  plunging  in  again,  he  was 
carried  out  by  a  retreating  wave,  and  swam 
out  bravely  over  the  stormy  water. 

Paul  Warren  did  not  see  this,  nor  did 
he  see,  in  the  face  of  Alice  Bevanne,  her 
fierce  joy  at  sharing  the  danger  of  the 
beings  whom  she  loved.  Even  when  she 
spoke,  he  hardly  heard  her,  though  he  me- 
chanically obeyed  the  voice  full  of  the  quiet 
courage  and  self-possession  of  the  girl's  daily 
life : - 

"  Head  up  a  little  !  You  can  save  her ;  the 
Rocket  has  n't  capsized." 

An  awful  energy  of  passion  lent  to  the 


arms  of  the  man  a  strength  as  the  strength 
of  ten,  for,  as  they  met  and  breasted  the 
waves,  rising,  gliding  over,  sinking  in  the 
trough  of  the  next,  fury  such  as  he  had  never 
known  descended  upon  him.  It  was  a  mo- 
ment when  all  the  inheritances  of  his  life 
met  and  clashed,  and  the  fire  smouldering  for 
generations  blazed  up  all  the  more  fiercely 
for  the  protecting  ashes  that  had  covered  it. 
To  reach  this  coward  and  fling  him  into  the 
sea,  to  rescue  the  woman  he  loved,  ridding 
the  earth  of  the  presence  of  this  vile  crea- 
ture before  it  could  again  be  fit  for  the 
tread  of  her  feet,  this  was  the  one  swelling 
desire  of  his  heart.  He  was  not  thinking, 
—  the  tempest  within  him  was  too  strong 
for  that ;  but  through  his  mind,  borne  as 
dead  leaves  are  borne  by  a  furious  gale, 

*/  O  9 

were  drifting  old  words,  old  memories,  old 
pictured  scenes.  His  father's  death  had  come 
back  to  him,  and,  like  a  cry  in  his  ears, 
more  vivid  to  sense  than  the  scream  of  the 
gulls  as  they  followed  the  trough  of  the 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     341 

waves  hunting  their  prey,  came  the  words 
which  had  bade  him  fight  out  the  Bevanne 
brood.  The  elder  Bevanne's  pitifully  weak 
love-letter  came  to  him  as  a  call  to  action, 
for  each  phrase  recalled  some  look  upon  the 
face  of  the  son  when  his  eyes  had  rested  on 
Frances  Wilmot;  and  Paul  Warren  cursed 
himself  that  he,  who  had  known  the  strength 
of  the  man's  hopeless  love,  had  not  meas- 
ured by  it  the  extent  of  the  woman's  dan- 
ger. So  old  passions  hunted  like  unleashed 
hounds  within  his  soul,  and  the  memory  of 
love's  sweetness  and  its  hope  were  driven 
out  by  elemental  fury. 

It  was  no  easy  task  set  that  day  for  the 
strong  arms  of  the  man,  as  he  battled  with 
the  irresistible  might  of  the  sea.  Nearer  and 
nearer  came  the  black  hull  on  the  water, 
driven  shoreward  by  the  strong  east  wind, 
while  the  dipping  white  sail  more  than  once 
seemed  to  disappear.  A  thing  of  nerve  and 
muscle,  with  no  sense  save  that  of  vision, 
Paul  Warren  strained  toward  that  white  rag 


8J&      THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

whose  rising  and  falling  on  the  waves  meant 
cruel  Tantalus  hope.  Each  time  he  lost  it, 
his  heart  dragged  down  as  with  the  weight 
of  chains,  down  to  the  depths  of  the  sea,  of 
whose  glories  this  woman  had  told  him  with 
laughter.  The  memory  of  her  words  brought 
him  only  pictures  of  her  pale  face  and  tan- 
gled hair  lying  among  those  dim,  rich  things 
of  shadowy  green  and  gold. 

Now  they  were  near  enough  to  discern 
clearly  the  figures  in  the  boat,  and  as  the 
possibility  of  rescuing  the  woman  he  loved 
became  more  strong,  the  white  anger  within 
him  burned  higher  in  uncontrollable  quiet. 
Ah,  his  father  had  been  right,  and  he,  in  his 
ignorance,  had  not  known.  Between  him 
and  the  tossing,  careening  Rocket,  he  plainly 
saw  his  father's  face,  and  he  heard  him  say  : 
"  Young  rattlesnakes  are  as  poisonous  as  old 
ones."  Surely  the  heel  of  man  was  meant 
to  crush  out  venomous  things. 

Paul  Warren's  motions  were  slower  as  the 
supreme  moment  drew  near.  Masterfully, 


THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE     343 

with  deep  breaths,  he  took  mighty  strokes, 
and  the  dory  crept  closer  and  closer  to  the 
wild  sailboat  as  she  wallowed  to  leeward. 
The  eyes  of  the  madman  at  •  the  helm  were 
fortunately  turned  away,  but  Frances  Wil- 
mot,  facing  the  greatness  of  death,  yet  full 
of  the  certainty  that  wind  nor  wave  could 
wrest  her  from  her  place  at  the  heart  of  life, 
looked  and  saw  her  lover  coming  to  her  over 
the  waves.  It  was  the  face  of  one  who  felt 
himself  able  to  wrestle  with  death  itself,  and 
pluck  back  the  life  he  loved.  The  girl  bent 
toward  him,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  joy 
that  omnipotent  love  should  come  to  her 
thus  on  the  tide  of  the  sea. 

Then  the  sea  which  had  wrought  her  dan- 
ger offered  her  a  slender  chance  of  safety, 
for,  more  through  a  fortunate  accident  of 
wind  and  wave  than  by  the  strength  of  Paul 
Warren's  arms,  the  dory  touched  for  a  brief 
moment  the  side  of  the  Rocket. 

"  Spring ! "  cried  Paul,  and  Frances,  with 
a  movement  too  quick  for  fear,  did  his 


344      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

bidding.  The  appealing  touch  of  the  girl's 
wet  hair  as  the  wind  blew  it  across  his 
face  tingled  through  him,  and  he  found  the 
angry  ocean  less  hard  to  fight  than  was  his 
desire  to  take  her  only  for  an  instant  in  his 
arms.  Then  he  saw  that  Alec  Bevanne  had 
turned  and  was  facing  him,  the  blue  eyes 
all  alight  with  anger.  A  madman's  frenzy 
came  upon  the  man  left  alone  in  the  Rocket, 
and  with  the  skilled  swiftness  of  a  cat  he 
leaped  into  the  dory,  almost  capsizing  it  by 
his  sudden  weight.  He  laid  his  hand  upon 
Frances  Wilmot's  golf  cape,  and  his  head- 
long  motion  betrayed  the  insane  hope  of 
upsetting  the  boat,  dragging  her  with  him 
to  the  depths.  To  Paul  Warren  came  a 
sudden  access  of  fury  that  was  all  com- 
pact of  strength;  in  an  instant's  time  he 
had  lifted  the  slender  form  of  the  intruder 
in  his  arms,  and  had  flung  him  into  the  sea. 
A  horrified  cry  rose  from  the  two  women, 
and  Alice  Bevanne's  hold  upon  the  oars 
loosened  as  she  made  a  swift  movement  to 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     345 

follow  to  her  brother's  rescue,  or  to  claim 
his  fate. 

"  Stop !  "  cried  Paul  Warren,  taking  the 
oars  from  her.  "  You  cannot  help  him ; 
there  was  nothing  else  to  do." 

The  girl  sank  upon  the  bottom  of  the 
boat,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands ; 
and  Frances,  taking  the  vacant  seat,  rowed 
stroke  for  stroke  with  Paul,  glad  that  there 
was  no  time  to  realize  the  full  horror  of 
the  moment.  Back  to  the  cove,  over  the 
tossing  water,  up  on  the  great  waves,  and 
down  again  into  the  depths,  rowed  Paul 
Warren,  stern  vengeance  sitting  on  his  fore- 
head. With  fierce  passion  of  which  he  had 
never  dreamed,  he  exulted  that  he  had  rid 
the  earth  of  that  creature,  as  he  exulted 
that  this  woman  of  all  the  world  was  safe, 
almost  safe.  A  few  more  strokes,  and  then  — 

A  great  wave  dashed  them  upon  the  sand 
of  the  cove  by  the  Warren  house,  and  with 
hands  that  trembled  he  helped  the  two 
drenched  figures  to  alight  from  the  dory. 


346      THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

"  Go  to  my  mother,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

But  they  turned  away,  and  he  watched 
them  as  they  went  toward  the  Inn,  trem- 
bling as  he  looked  at  Frances  Wilmot's  dark 
head,  then  marveling  at  the  light  in  Alice 
Bevanne's  face.  It  brought  him  a  dim  feel- 
ing that  this  girl's  heroic  nature  had  more 
than  expiated  the  sins  of  both  father  and 
brother,  and  with  this,  as  he  looked  out  over 
the  waste  of  waters,  came  a  realization  of 
his  own  deed. 

"  I  have  killed  that  man,"  he  said  simply, 
as  if  a  mechanical  statement  of  the  fact 
should  be  offered  to  the  encompassing  uni- 
verse. 

He  dragged  the  dory  higher  on  the  sand, 
the  strain  on  his  muscles  relieving  the  ten- 
sion of  the  mind. 

"  It  had  to  be  done,"  said  Paul  Warren 
sternly,  throwing  back  his  head  and  brush- 
ing the  wet  hair  from  his  forehead ;  "  the 
lives  of  two  women  were  at  stake." 

But  something  in  his  heart  spoke  silently 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     847 

on  as  he  scanned  shore  and  water  to  see  if 
perchance  some  incoming  wave  might  not 
save  the  drowning  man.  It  was  less  the  deed 
than  the  motive  for  the  deed  that  was  in 
question.  Spent  passion  left  his  mind  free 
for  his  old  cruelly  ironic  sense  of  things.  He, 
whose  impossibly  high  ideals  had  kept  him 
from  sharing  the  simplest  phases  of  human 
life,  had  exulted  in  flinging  a  man  to  his 
death.  He  turned  and  walked  down  the 
storm-strewn  shore,  watching  for  some  sign 
that  it  was  not  too  late  to  help,  full  of  a 
sense  of  tumult,  before  his  eyes  a  feeling  as 
of  darkness  unlighted,  and  in  his  ears  the 
scream  of  the  sea  gulls,  which  seemed  to 
mingle  with  the  scream  of  evil  things  in  his 
soul. 


SJ8      THE  COMING   OF  THE  TIDE 


XXIV 


J3uT  where  is  Paul  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Warren 
anxiously  of  Uncle  Peter,  as  the  old  man 
brought  her  her  letters  at  breakfast. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Uncle  Peter.  "  In 
bed,  I  presume." 

"  No,  he  must  have  gone  out  very  early, 
for  I  stopped  at  his  room  just  now  to  speak 
to  him.  I  did  not  see  him  last  night." 

"  He  must  be  in  the  city,"  suggested  Uncle 
Peter. 

"  But  he  never  goes  without  telling  me." 

.  "  Where 's  Robin  Hood  ?  "  demanded  Uncle 
Peter  suddenly. 

Together  they  waited,  lingering  long  at 
the  table  in  the  hope  that  Paul  might  join 
them,  but  he  did  not  come.  Aunt  Belinda  ap- 
peared as  often  as  possible  from  the  kitchen, 
torn  between  a  desire  to  comfort  away  the 


THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE     349 

worried  look  from  Mrs.  Warren's  face,  and 
a  determination  not  to  recognize  its  cause. 
Uncle  Peter  chattered  amiably  of  everything 
he  could  think  of,  his  nervous  cheerfulness 
increasing  the  mother's  agitation  at  every 
word  ;  and  then  searched  house  and  garden 
and  nearer  shore  with  an  incidental  air,  as  if 
ordered  by  his  doctor  to  take  a  zigzag  con- 
stitutional in  every  direction.  Alone,  at  the 
window  or  on  the  veranda,  stood  Mrs.  War- 
ren, looking  out  over  the  water,  which  was 
clearing  after  the  storm,  and  stretched,  in- 
credibly blue,  dark,  with  white  foam  at  its 
edge,  to  the  clear  horizon  line,  where  it  lay 
in  hard  relief  against  the  pale  blue  of  the 
sky.  It  was  a  day  of  no  gentleness  of  mood, 
but  of  pitiless  beauty  and  of  shrill,  unheed- 
ing wind. 

The  Sea  Gull  was  riding  up  and  down 
unhurt  upon  the  waves;  the  dory  was 
pulled  high  and  dry  upon  the  sand.  Of 
that  wild  journey  out  over  the  storm-tossed 
sea  of  yesterday  no  traces  remained,  and 


850       THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

neither  Mrs.  Warren  nor  Uncle  Peter  knew 
of  it.  Aunt  Belinda,  however,  had  watched 
from  the  kitchen  window  the  launching  of 
the  dory  and  the  strange  return  with  the 
Southern  girl,  who  had  not  gone  forth  with 
the  other  two,  and  she  kept  her  own  counsel, 
with  much  inarticulate  muttering  to  herself 
among  her  pots  and  pans,  aware,  with  that 
fine  animal  sensitiveness  of  her  race,  of  the 
unspoken  trouble  in  the  air.  The  three 
waited  in  vain  for  note  or  telegram  which 
would  explain  for  them  Paul's  absence ;  but 
none  came,  and  with  every  passing  minute 
of  the  day  the  current  of  foreboding  grew 
more  strong.  As  the  afternoon  wore  on,  the 
color  died  out  of  the  sea,  the  life  died  out  of 
the  air,  and  sky  and  water  stretched  away, 
a  dull,  gray,  leaden  waste. 

Late  in  the  day  the  third  Andrew  Lane, 
driver  at  the  Emerson  Inn,  strolled  down  the 
road  and  paused  at  his  grandfather's  house, 
where  the  old  man  sat  smoking  in  a  splint- 
bottomed  chair  tipped  comfortably  back. 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE      351 

"  Folks  all  right  ?  "  asked  young  Andrew. 

Old  Andrew  grunted  assent,  and  silently 
held  out  his  pipe  to  give  the  visitor  a  light. 
They  had  puffed  on  speechlessly  for  several 
minutes  before  young  Andrew  ventured  a 
further  remark. 

"  I  see  young  Warren  up  the  shore  this 
mornin',  and  I  thought  he  looked  kind  of 
queer." 

Old  Andrew  listened  sharply,  and  the 
wreaths  of  smoke  ceased  coming  from  his 
mouth. 

"  Acted  like  he  was  half  crazy,"  ventured 
young  Andrew,  who  was  suffering  more  agi- 
tation than  he  was  willing  to  express, — 
"  went  searchin'  round  behind  the  rocks  and 
lookin'  over  the  edge  as  if  he  'd  lost  some- 
thin'." 

"  Fishin',  likely,"  said  the  grandfather, 
nor  could  the  bearer  of  ill  tidings  get  any 
further  expression  of  opinion  from  the  old 
man,  who  asked  a  single  question  in  regard 
to  his  young  master's  whereabouts  and  then 


lapsed  into  smoky  silence.  It  was  not  until 
young  Andrew  had  gone  home  that  old 
Andrew  picked  up  his  battered  straw  hat, 
refilled  his  pipe,  and  ambled  down  to  the 
Warren  house,  where  he  had  a  long  con- 
ference with  Aunt  Belinda. 

Another  morning  dawned  on  sea  and 
shore  with  a  pallor  that  was  not  light ;  Paul 
Warren  had  come  home  at  midnight,  wan, 
distraught,  and  speechless.  At  the  first  glim- 
mer in  the  east  he  was  up  again  and  away 
on  his  search,  returning  later  for  a  morsel 
of  food,  but  going  out  again  immediately 
without  explaining  his  strange  conduct.  The 
next,  day,  Mrs.  Warren,  unable  to  endure 
longer  the  look  of  silent  misery  on  her  son's 
face,  begged  Alice  Bevanne  to  tell  Frances 
Wilmot  of  this  mysterious  trouble,  and  she 
performed  her  task  as  she  did  all  others,  un- 
flinchingly. The  Southern  girl  listened  with 
a  face  grown  pale  as  the  morning ;  then  the 
two  gazed  at  each  other  in  silence,  eyes  and 
hearts  full  of  the  memory  of  that  terrible 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   TIDE 

moment  when  the  avenger  had  stood  up- 
right in  the  dory  and  the  head  of  Alec 
Bevanne  had  sunk  under  the  waves. 

"Your  brother?"  asked  Frances,  with 
lips  that  feared  the  answer. 

"  He  is  much  better,"  said  Alice,  "  only 
still  very  stiff  and  bruised ;  but  of  course 
I  could  not  explain  to  Mrs.  Warren,  and 
Mr.  Warren,  who  does  not  know  that  Alec 
came  safely  home,  is  not  to  be  found.  He 
must  have  been  searching  farther  up  the 
coast  when  Alec  was  brought  to  shore  by 
the  waves." 

Courage  had  come  back  to  the  heart  of 
Frances. 

"  I  will  find  him,"  she  said  simply ;  "  he 
is  somewhere  by  the  sea." 

She  rose  and  passed  from  the  Inn,  down 
the  slippery  path,  past  the  nodding  grasses 
wet  with  mist,  past  tangled  beds  of  wild 
rosebushes,  where  red  haws  showed,  and 
here  and  there  a  delicate  belated  rose.  Alice 
Bevanne  stood  watching  her  as  she  went 


354      THE  COMING    OF  THE  TIDE 

farther  and  farther  away,  her  dark  hair  and 
white  gown  breaking  the  encompassing  gray ; 
then  turned  and  went  slowly  home,  alone. 

It  was  a  day  of  the  passing  of  things,  as 
of  an  Avalon  to  which  life  had  not  come,  or 
to  which  memories  of  life  past  had  floated 
in  shapes  of  mist.  Out  of  the  gray  the  slight 
waves  broke  in  lines  of  white ;  spectral 
pines  stood  on  near  height  or  far,  as  at  the 
end  of  the  world.  Pale-green  willow  and 
tall  poplar  tree  beckoned  in  the  moving  fog 
to  the  very  heart  of  mystery,  and  white 
road  and  grassy  path  alike  seemed  to  end 
in  cloud  on  hill  or  in  hollow.  As  the  girl 
wandered  close  "by  the  shore  or  on  the 
country  roads  where  Paul  and  she  had 
walked  together,  eye  and  ear  were  strained, 
but  she  did  not  find  him.  Far  or  near,  the 
murmur  of  the  ocean  came  to  her,  and 
the  answering  murmur  of  the  wind  in  the 
pines  with  the  immemorial  music.  Again  and 
again  the  mist  half  lifted  over  a  sea  of 
pearly  blue,  then  closed  in  again,  floating, 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     855 

breaking,  —  a  soft,  palpable  grayness  every- 
where. 

Once,  as  the  mist  parted,  before  her  on 
the  wet  sand  she  saw  stretched  out  the  life- 
less form  of  Robin  Hood,  —  one  paw  flung 
across  his  eyes  as  the  careless  tide  had  left 
him  there ;  she  bent  and  patted  the  brave 
dark  head. 

But  she  could  not  stay,  and  went  on 
searching  by  rocky  bluff  and  sheltered  cove, 
the  fog  again  inclosing  her,  swift  as  the  fall- 
ing of  a  veil.  The  old  paths  were  gone ; 
familiar  landmarks  of  pine  and  of  cedar 
were  wiped  away  as  by  obliterating  fin- 
gers ;  and  she  stopped  with  a  sudden  sense 
of  hopeless  weariness.  Passion  had  died  out 
of  the  sea,  and  there  was  nothing  left  but 
its  gray  moan. 

Then  the  will  of  the  woman  rose  above 
the  will  of  sky  and  of  sea :  somewhere  he 
was  waiting  for  her,  —  of  that  her  assurance 
was  perfect.  Somewhere  he  was  listening 
for  her  voice  which  he  so  loved ;  her  voice 


356      THE  COMING    OF   THE  TIDE 

should  find  him.  Across  the  mist  she  sent 
it,  the  cry  of  the  bird  to  its  wounded  mate. 
It  broke  into  her  song  of  the  tide,  and  as 
it  quivered  on  the  air,  it  seemed  to  glow 
with  golden  light  and  color,  and  to  break 
into  iridescent  beauty  against  the  gray. 
Passion  and  love  and  faith  were  set  free 
in  the  wonderful  notes,  high  and  low ;  the 
dropping  of  human  tears  was  there,  ripples 
of  human  laughter,  and  the  supreme  joy 
that  touches  pain.  Far  off  across  the  mist 
the  man  heard  it,  and  knew  this  woman's 
deep  sense  of  the  melody  at  the  heart  of 
things,  beneath  the  discord  and  the  strife 
and  sin,  and  he  waited,  the  notes  falling  on 
his  ear  as  cool  drops  of  rain  might  fall  on 
parched  lips  dying  of  thirst.  She  found  him 
at  last,  exhausted  by  his  fruitless  search, 
leaning  against  a  sheer  wall  of  rock  with 
the  white  quiet  of  despair  on  his  face.  As 
she  came  toward  him  with  outstretched 
hands,  her  song  died  on  her  lips,  for  he 
shrank  away. 


THE  COMING    OF   THE   TIDE     357 

"  Don't  touch  me,"  he  said  sternly. 

She  paid  no  heed,  but  with  her  old  smile 
drew  him  to  a  seat  on  the  rocks,  and  half 
fearfully  touched  the  disordered  hair  on  his 
forehead,  then  laid  cool  fingers  on  his  eye- 
lids, closing  them  over  the  tired  eyes. 

"Frances,  I  have  sent  a  man  to  his 
death,"  he  said  brokenly. 

"Mr.  Bevanne  came  safely  home,"  she 
whispered. 

Something  like  a  sob  broke  from  him, 
and  the  pale  lips  quivered. 

"I  am  unspeakably  glad  for  Alice  and 
for  her  mother,  but  it  does  not  alter  what 
I  did,  or  tried  to  do." 

She  broke  into  her  song  again,  and  the 
man  at  her  side,  with  closed  eyes,  drank  it 
thirstily  in;  then,  watching  the  changing 
expression  on  his  face,  she  seized  her  mo- 
ment and  said  coaxingly  :  - 

"  Come  home !  What  do  you  mean  by 
frightening  us  all  nearly  to  death  ?  I  have 
been  waiting  and  waiting  for  you." 


"  I  did  not  realize  —  anything,"  he  said 
hoarsely.  "  I  was  searching,  at  first,  for 
Bevanne.  Frances,  it  is  all  true,  all  the  old 
fear  that  darkened  my  boyhood,  of  hands 
waiting  in  the  dark,  clutching  you  out  of 
the  past,  making  you  do  their  will." 

"  It  is  not  true,"  said  the  woman  bravely, 
and,  drawing  nearer,  she  kissed  his  eyes 
and  his  brow  with  indescribable  tender- 
ness. 

"  That  passion  like  that  could  master  one 
unaware ! " 

She  broke  the  tragic  measure  of  his  voice 
with  a  little  light,  joyous  laugh. 

"  All  that  you  needed  to  make  you  perfect 
was  a  little  primitive  passion  !  " 

He  stretched  out  a  warning  hand  to 
ward  her  ofF,  and  paused,  gazing  at  her 
with  steady  eyes. 

"  I  shall  never  claim  you,  beloved,  for  I 
am  not  fit.  There  is  nothing  in  human  life 
but  failure  and  misery  and  despair.  It  is 
only  a  pitfall  set  for  our  feet." 


THE   COMING    OF   THE  TIDE      359 

Her  soft  hand  lay  across  his  eyes  as  she 
whispered :  — 

"  There  is  nothing  anywhere  but  love  !  " 

"  Ah,  but  you  were  afraid  before,"  he 
said. 

"  That  was  long  ago,"  she  whispered, 
"  before  I  knew." 

"  But  you  don't  understand,"  said  the 
man's  voice,  breaking.  "  In  that  moment 
I  did  not  know  what  I  was  doing,  and  I 
committed  a  crime.  Think  how  awful  the 
possibilities  of  things  are !  To  all  intents 
I  killed  that  man,  and,  dear,  it  might  be 

you." 

With  a  sudden  fierce  sense  of  pity  and  of 
possession  she  drew  his  head  to  her  bosom. 

"  Then  I  should  say,  as  Sir  Gawaine  said 
of  Lancelot,  '  Of  a  more  nobler  man  might 
I  not  be  slain.' 


Eltctrotyped  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &•  Cf. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.  A. 


SOUTHERN .REGIONAL  LIBRARY FACILITY 


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